Dodge tried to laugh it off as a pleasantry. He had met Furlong once, in a fight, and had no desire to be sent to cadet hospital again with blackened eyes.

"I don't want to mind other people's business, Dodge," continued Furlong coolly, "but you're going a bit too far, it seems to me, in what you say about Prescott. Why should you seek to blacken the character of one of our best fellows, and the president of our cla.s.s?"

"Because he tried to blacken mine," retorted Dodge boldly.

"He didn't. All he did, at the court-martial, was to explain the adventures of his handkerchief just before that piece of paper fell to the floor of the section room."

"Wasn't that an insinuation against me?" demanded Cadet Dodge.

"Not unless your character here is on such a very poor foundation that it can't stand any suspicions," replied Furlong coldly.

"Now, see here, Dodge, the general review is on, and Prescott can't spare any time on private rows. After the general review is over, if I hear any more about your roasting Prescott, I'm going to call on you to go with me to Prescott's presence, and repeat your statements to his face. I don't want to stir up any needless personal trouble, Dodge, but I declare myself now as one of old ramrod's friends. Any slander against him must be backed up. I trust you will pardon my having been so explicit."

Furlong turned on his heel, striding away. The cadets to whom Dodge had been talking bitterly looked at Bert curiously. A good many men in the corps would have promptly resented such remarks as Furlong's, and to the limit, by calling him out.

"Queer how many friends, of some kinds, a fellow like Prescott can have," laughed Dodge sneeringly.

"Not at all," spoke up one of Dodge's listeners. "Everyone always knows where Prescott stands, and he'll back up anything he says.

Furlong is another man of the same stamp."

With that the last speaker turned on his heel and walked away.

For some days after that, Bert Dodge was more careful of his utterances.

The general reviews came and pa.s.sed. By sheer hard, undistracted work, both d.i.c.k and Greg succeeded in pulling through without having to go up for writs. For some reason Dodge did not do quite as well in the general review, and was forced to drop down a couple of sections. He still stood well, however, in math.

In the next week after the dangerous examination period d.i.c.k Prescott began to forge upwards in mathematics. He was now in the section fourth removed from the goats, and Greg was up in the section next above the goats.

On the afternoon of the Friday when the markings had been posted Dodge met Dennison, also of the yearling cla.s.s.

"Say, what do you think, Dodge, of Prescott beginning to shoot up through the sections toward you? He'll soon be marching at your side when math. is called."

"He'll bear watching," nodded Dodge sagely.

"That's what I feel about it," replied Dennison.

"Prescott isn't the kind of man who can climb high in mathematics, and do it honestly," continued Dodge. "Either he has the old crib at work again, or has. .h.i.t on a safer way of working crib."

"Of course he has," nodded Dennison. "We ought to post the cla.s.s---especially Prescott own section comrades. They can catch him, if they're sharp, and then pa.s.s the word through the cla.s.s without bothering the authorities. If Prescott is doing such things he must be driven from West Point."

"He will be---see if he isn't," retorted Bert sullenly. "I'm going to pa.s.s the word to the cla.s.s."

"And I'll post the men in the same section with him," promised Dennison.

"Why not post Prescott first?" demanded a cold voice. A cadet had halted behind the pair.

"Oh, you, Furlong?" snarled Dodge, turning.

"Yes," replied Cadet Furlong. "And I told you, on a former occasion, what I thought about back-biters."

"Be careful, Furlong!" warned Dennison angrily.

"At your service, sir, any time," coolly replied Furlong, though he was a head shorter than Dennison, who was one of the big athletes of the yearling cla.s.s.

"But the cla.s.s ought to know some truths," retorted Dodge harshly.

"Here comes some of the cla.s.s now," replied Furlong, as seven yearlings, on their way back from the library, turned in at the sally-port. "Tell them for a start, Dodge, and I'll listen.

Hold on there, fellows. Oh, you there, Prescott? That's lucky.

Dodge has some 'facts' he thinks the cla.s.s ought to know, and I want you to hear them. Now, Dodge, turn around and repeat what you were just saying."

There was no help for it. Dodge had to speak up, or be considered a cur that bit only in the dark.

So, with a show of defiance, Dodge spoke hotly giving a very fair repet.i.tion of what he had lately said. Prescott stood by, his fists clenched, his face white, but without interrupting or making any move.

"Now, state what you said, Mr. Dennison," requested Furlong coldly.

Thus cornered, Dennison, too, had to state truthfully what he had just been saying.

There was a pause.

Some of the yearlings looked straight ahead. Others glanced curiously at the princ.i.p.als in this little drama of cadet life. None of them took Furlong to be anything more than the stage manager.

"Have you said all you have to say, Mr. Dodge?" demanded Cadet Prescott.

"Yes," flared Bert.

"Have you anything that you wish to add, Mr. Dennison?" demanded d.i.c.k, wheeling upon his other foe in the corps.

"Nothing more, at present," replied Dennison coolly. He realized how much bigger and more powerful he was than d.i.c.k Prescott.

"Then, as for you, Mr. Dodge," continued Prescott, fixing his old-time enemy with a cold eye, "you're a liar and a coward!"

Dodge doubled his fists, springing forward, but two of the yearlings caught him and dragged him back, for old ramrod's back was already turned. d.i.c.k was eyeing his other detractor.

"You, Mr. Dennison," continued Prescott, "are a dirty scandal-monger, a back-biter and a source of danger to the honor of the cadet corps!"

CHAPTER XVIII

THE FIGHT IN BARRACKS

"Let go of me!" roared Dennison, as two men held him. "Let me at that-----"

"Any name that you would see fit to call me, Dennison, wouldn't sting," retorted d.i.c.k. "You have forfeited the right to have your opinion considered a gentleman's."

"Don't you ever call names?" hissed Dennison.