"Humph!" muttered Holmes. "Of course it is. You old b.o.n.e.r, you've never been but to three hops!

"I understand," teased Belle, "that you're much more of a veteran, Mr. Holmes, than your chum is."

Cadet Dodge "missed" that hop.

CHAPTER XVII

"A LIAR AND A COWARD"

Long, indeed, did the memory of that hop linger with Cadet d.i.c.k Prescott.

It had come as the fitting, cheering ending of his great trouble---the hardest trouble that had a.s.sailed him, or could a.s.sail him, at the United States Military Academy.

"Well, you've been vindicated, anyway," muttered Greg cheerily, one day. "So you needn't look as thoughtful as you do half of the time these present days."

"Have I been vindicated, Greg?" asked d.i.c.k gravely.

"What did the court say? And you're still wearing the uniform that Uncle Sam gave you, aren't you?

"Vindication, Greg, means something more that a court-martial verdict of acquittal."

"What more do you want?"

"Greg, the verdicts of all the courts-martial sitting between here and Manila wouldn't make some of the men of this corps believe that I innocent."

"G'wan!" retorted Cadet Holmes impatiently.

"I see it, Greg, old chum, if you don't."

"You're morbid, old ramrod!"

"Greg, you know the cheery greeting, in pa.s.sing, that one man here often gives another when he likes and trusts that man. Well, some of own cla.s.smates that used to give me the glad hail seem to be thinking about something else, now, when they pa.s.s me."

"Who are they?" demanded Greg, his fists doubling.

"You'd provoke a fight, if I told you," retorted d.i.c.k. "This isn't a matter to fight about."

"Then you don't know much about fighting subjects," grumbled Cadet Holmes, as he leaned back and opened his book of everlasting mathematics.

"Let me see, Greg; have you any show to get out of the goats in math.?"

"I'm in hopes to get out and step into the next section above,"

replied Greg. "I've been working hard enough."

"Then you'd better waste no thoughts on pugilism. Calculus will bring you more happiness."

"Calculus was never designed to bring anyone happiness," retorted Greg sulkily. "It's a torment invented on purpose to harrow the souls of cadets. What good, any way, will calculus ever be to an officer who has a platoon of men to lead in a charge on the enemy?"

This could not very well be answered, so d.i.c.k dodged the subject.

"Remember the January exams., old fellow," warned d.i.c.k. "And the general review begins Monday. That will show you up, if you don't keep your nose in math. and out of books on the Queensbury rules."

"Funny how Bert Dodge keeps up in mathematics, and yet takes in all the pleasures he can find," rumbled on Greg, as he turned the pages of his book, seeking what he wanted. "Dodge is in the section just under the stars, and I hear he has dreams of being in the star section after the January ordeals."

"Dodge always was a rather good student at Gridley High School"

rejoined Prescott.

"But he never led our cla.s.s there in the High School mathematics, which is baby's play compared with West Point math."

"Well, he gets the marks now," sighed d.i.c.k. "I wish we could, too."

The academic part of the cadet's year is divided into two halves.

The first half winds up in January. During the last few weeks before the period for the winter examination, there is a general review in some of the subjects, notably in mathematics. This general review brings out all of a man's weak points in his subject.

Incidentally, it should strengthen him in his weak points.

Now, if, in the general review, a cadet shows sufficient proficiency in his subject, he is not required to take the examination. If he fails in the general review in mathematics, he must go up for a "writ," as a written examination is termed. And that writ is cruelly searching. If the young man fails in the "writ," he may be conditioned and required to make up his deficiencies in June.

If, in June, he fails to make up all deficiencies, he is dropped from the cadet corps as being below the mental standards required of a West Point graduate.

Neither d.i.c.k nor Greg stood high enough in mathematics to care to go on past January conditioned. Both felt that, with conditions extending over to the summer, they must fail in June.

"I'd sooner have my funeral held tomorrow than drop out of West Point," Greg stated.

Prescott, while not making that a.s.sertion, knew that it would blast his dearest hopes life if he had to go down in the academic battle.

Dodge, who was so high in mathematics that he need have little fear, was circulating a good deal among his cla.s.smates these days before Christmas.

"That hound, Prescott, made a slick dodge to drag me into his disgrace," Dodge declared, to those whom he thought would be interest in such remarks. "It was a clever trick! couldn't put me in disgrace, for there is no breach of regulations in borrowing a handkerchief for a moment. But Prescott made so much of that handkerchief business that it served his purpose and dragged him out safely before the court."

"Do you think Prescott was really guilty of a crib?" asked one of Dodge's hearers.

"I can't prove it, but I know what I think," retorted Dodge.

"His effort to draw me into the row shows what kind of a fellow he is at bottom."

"I'd hate to think that Prescott would really be mean enough for a crib."

"Think what you like, then, of course. But a fellow guilty of one meanness might not stop at others."

Dodge talked much in this vein. Cadets are not tale-bearers, and so little or none of this talk reached d.i.c.k's ears until Furlong came along, one day, in time to hear Dodge holding forth on his favorite subject.

Yearling Furlong halted, eyeing Cadet Dodge sternly, keenly.

"Well," demanded Dodge, "what's wrong?"

"I don't know exactly," replied Furlong, with a quizzical smile.

"I think, though, that the basic error lay in your ever having been born at all."