"d.i.c.k-----" began Laura hesitatingly.

"Yes?" asked the young cadet captain.

"d.i.c.k, no matter how far your cla.s.smates push this matter," begged Laura, her eyes big and earnest, "don't let their acts force you out of the Army. No matter what happens---stick!"

Cadet Prescott shook his head wearily. "I can't stick," he replied firmly, "if I am shown that my presence in the Army is not going to be for the good and the harmony of the service!"

Laura sighed. Another keen pang of disappointment, was hers.

She now believed that her influence over d.i.c.k Prescott was not anywhere near as strong as she had hoped it would be.

A very wretched girl rested her head on a pillow that night, and slept but poorly.

In the forenoon, while the corps was absent on an infantry practice march, Laura, her mother and her friend went dejectedly away from West Point.

CHAPTER VIII

FATE SERVES d.i.c.k HER MEANEST TRICK

The furloughed second cla.s.s returned, the encampment ended and the corps marched back into cadet barracks.

The new academic year had begun, with new text-books, new studies, new intellectual torments for the hundreds of ambitious young soldiers at the United States Military Academy.

By this time both d.i.c.k and Greg had acquired the habits of study so thoroughly that neither any longer feared for his standing or markings.

To Prescott there was one big comfort about being back in the old, gray cadet barracks.

The silence put upon d.i.c.k was not now quite as much in evidence.

With long study hours, Prescott had not so much need to meet his cla.s.smates.

In the section rooms nothing in the deportment of the other cadets could emphasize the silence.

It was only in the authorized visiting hours that Prescott noted the change keenly.

Of course, according to the traditions of the Military Academy, Anstey and all the other loyal friends who ached to call were barred from so doing.

While taps sounds at ten o'clock, and members of the three lower cla.s.ses must be in bed, with lights out, at the first sound of taps, first cla.s.smen are privileged, whenever they wish, to run a light until eleven at night, provided the extra time be spent in study.

One evening in early September, d.i.c.k and Greg were both busy at study table, when d.i.c.k chanced to look over some papers connected with his studies. As he did so, he drew out an officially backed sheet, and started.

"Jupiter!" he muttered. "I should have turned this in before supper formation."

"Who gets the report?" asked Greg, looking up.

"It goes to the officer in charge," d.i.c.k answered.

"Oh, well, he's up yet. You can slip over to his office with it," replied Greg easily.

"And I'll do it at once. It may mean a demerit or two, for lack of punctuality, but I'm glad it's no worse."

Jumping up and donning his fatigue cap, Prescott thrust the neglected official report into the breast of his uniform blouse, soldier fashion.

Then he walked slowly out, halting just inside the subdivision door.

"I don't mind a few demerits, but I don't like to be accused of unsoldierly neglect," mused the young cadet captain. "Let me see if I can think up a way of presenting my statement so that the O.C. won't scorch me."

As d.i.c.k stood there in the gloom, a quick, soft step sounded outside.

Then the door was carefully opened, and a young man in citizen's dress entered.

Civilians rarely have a right, to be in cadet barracks at any time of the day. It is wholly out of the question for one to enter barracks after taps.

"What are you doing in here, sir?" d.i.c.k questioned sternly, putting out his hand to take the other's arm.

Then the young cadet captain drew back in near-horror.

"Good heavens! Durville?" he gasped.

"Yes. Sh!" whispered the other cadet, slinking back, a frightened look in his eyes.

No cadet, while at West Point, may, without proper permission, appear in any clothing save the uniform of the day or of the tour.

No cadet ever attempts to don "cits." unless he is up to some grave mischief, such as leaving the post.

"Don't say a word! Let me reach my room!" whispered Durville hoa.r.s.ely.

d.i.c.k Prescott wished, with all his heart, to be able to comply with the other cadet's frenzied request.

But duty stepped in with loud voice. As a cadet officer, as captain of Durville's company, Prescott had no alternative within the lines of that duty. He must report Cadet Durville.

"Now, don't look at me so strangely," begged Durville. "Let me go by, and tell me you'll keep this quiet. By Jove, Prescott, you know what it means to me if I'm placed on report for---this!"

"Yes, I know," nodded d.i.c.k, dejectedly, and speaking as hoa.r.s.ely as did the other man. "Oh, Durville, I wish I could do it, but-----"

d.i.c.k had to clench his fists and gulp hard. Then the soldier in him triumphed.

"Mr. Durville"---he spoke in an impa.s.sive official tone, now---"you will accompany me to the office of the officer in charge, and will there make such official explanation as you may choose."

"Prescott, for the love of-----" began the other over again, in trembling desperation.

"About face, Mr. Durville. Forward!"

Now, all the gameness in the other cadet came to the surface.

He wheeled about, head up, his clenched fists seeking the seams of his condemning "cit." trousers. Durville marched defiantly out into the quadrangle, across and into the cadet guard house, up the flight of stairs and into the office of the officer in charge.

Lieutenant Denton was again O.C. that night.