"I reckon I do."

"Well, it seems that Prescott, Holmes, Darrin and Dalzell were all members of the athletic squad in the same High School before they entered the service."

"Darrin and Dalzell are going to make it possible for the Navy to wipe us up again this year, too," continued the other cadet plaintively.

"I don't believe they would, if we could put in Mr. Prescott and Holmesy for this year."

"But we can't, Durry."

"No; I know it."

"So what's the use of talking." Nevertheless, there was a lot of talking, and dozens waylaid Greg and tried to induce him to reconsider. But he wouldn't, and that was all there was to it.

No one even thought of lifting the ban from Prescott in order to gain either or both of these cadet athletes. West Point cadets are consistent. They will never lift the ban, once they believe it to have been justly laid, just in order to make a better athletic showing. The Academy authorities demand that a team athlete shall stand well in his studies and general discipline; the cadets themselves demand also that the man who carries their athletic colors must conform to cadet ideals of honor. And Prescott, being in Coventry, surely was not to be regarded as a man of honor.

Washington's Birthday had come and pa.s.sed, and Prescott still lingered in the cadet corps. Indeed, he seemed as determined as ever upon graduating.

There were limits, however, to cla.s.s patience. It was Anstey who got on the track of the news and brought it to Greg.

"A cla.s.s meeting is to be called ten days hence," reported the Virginian. "The meeting will be announced at supper formation to-night. It is set well ahead in order to give the fellows plenty of time to think over the subject for discussion."

"That discussion," guessed Holmes, "is to be as to the best means of driving d.i.c.k from the corps."

"You've guessed it, suh," replied the Virginian sorrowfully.

"Whatever the cla.s.s feels called upon to do, suh, I reckon it will be something that will break our poor camel's back."

CHAPTER XIII

THE FIGURES IN THE DARK

And d.i.c.k?

The reader will hardly need to be told that this spirited young cadet was suffering his unmerited disgrace as keenly as ever.

More keenly, in fact, for every day that the silence continued it seemed to add to the weight of the burden that bound him down.

Yet Greg asked no questions, for he felt that it would be safer not to do so. He had just barely told Prescott of the purpose of the coming cla.s.s meeting, which the latter cadet had already guessed for himself, however.

"I suppose I'll have a few loyal friends at that meeting?" asked d.i.c.k, with a sad smile.

"Just as many friends as ever," a.s.serted Holmes stoutly.

"I'm mighty grateful for that," nodded d.i.c.k. "But what I seem to need is more friends than ever."

"We'll find them for you, if there's any way to do it," promised Holmes, and there the talk dropped.

"If the cla.s.s goes against me again, and harder than before, I'm certain I shall have to see Lieutenant Denton once more and tell him that I can't stand it any longer," d.i.c.k told himself.

The cla.s.s meeting was to be held on a Monday evening. On the night of the Sat.u.r.day before, when scores of cadets were over at Cullum Hall at a merry "hop," Prescott slipped out of barracks by himself in Greg's absence.

Almost unconsciously Prescott's steps turned in the direction of Trophy Point. In the darkness he stood before Battle Monument, on which are inscribed the names of the West Point graduates who have fallen in battles.

"Will my name ever be there, or have any chance to be there?"

wondered d.i.c.k, a big lump rising in his throat.

A tear stood in either eye, but he brushed them aside as unworthy of a soldier. Was he ever going to be a soldier, he wondered.

"I don't know that I'm really ready to be killed in battle," thought d.i.c.k grimly. "It would be enough to know that my name is to be on the roll of graduates of the Military Academy, and afterwards on the rolls of the Army as an officer who had served with credit wherever he had been placed. But the fates seem against even that much. Hang it all, what was it that Lieutenant Denton said about faith and right, and faith being as much the soldier's duty as honor? I guess he was never placed in just such a fix as mine!"

For, slowly, all of d.i.c.k's iron-clad resolution to "stick it out"

was wearing away. It was becoming plainer to him, every day, that he could not stay in the Army if he were always to live in Coventry as far as his brother officers were concerned.

"I wonder what the fellows will do at the meeting next Monday night?" d.i.c.k pondered, as he turned and strolled back by another road. "If the fellows could only realize how unjust they are without meaning to be! But I can't make them see that. I'll have to resign, of course, but I promised Lieutenant Denton to talk it over with him before doing anything of the sort, and I'll keep my word."

Very absent minded did the young cadet become in the midst of his perplexed musings. He heard the sound of martial music and unconsciously his feet moved in quicker time.

It was as though he were marching, led on by he knew not what.

Straight toward the music he moved, with the tread of a soldier responding to the drums.

Then, at last, when he was almost upon the building, Prescott came to himself and stopped abruptly.

"Cullum Hall!" he muttered, with a harsh laugh. "The night of the cadet hop. My cla.s.smates are in there, free-hearted and happy, and taking their lessons in the social graces---while I am on the outside, the social outcast of the cla.s.s!"

Yet, as there were no cadets in sight, out at this north end of the handsome building, Prescott presently moved forward, nearer.

"The old, old story of the beggar on the outside! The man on the outside, looking in!" muttered d.i.c.k with increasing bitterness.

"Yet I may as well look, since there is none to see me or deny me."

Around the north end d.i.c.k pa.s.sed, just as the brilliant music of the Military Academy orchestra was drawing to its close. In his misery the young cadet leaned against the face of the building, behind an angle in the wall.

As he stood there d.i.c.k saw the figure of a man flit, by him. The stranger was dressed in citizen's clothes. There was nothing suspicions in that, since there is no law to prevent citizens from visiting the Military Academy. But there was something stealthy about this stranger's movements.

"It is a wonder he didn't see me," mused d.i.c.k. "He went by within eight feet of me."

d.i.c.k was about to make his presence known by stepping out into sight, when the stranger halted.

"Perhaps it may be as well not to show myself just yet," flashed through Prescott's mind. "If the fellow is up to any mischief probably I can prevent it."

A cold, biting breeze swept up from the Hudson River below. It was chilling in the extreme, here at the top of the bluff, but d.i.c.k, in his misery, had been proof against weather.

Not so with the stranger. He stamped his feet and struck his hands against his sides. Then, after some moments, as though angry at some one within Cullum Hall, the stranger wheeled and shook one clenched fist at the windows overhead.

"Whom has that fellow a grouch against?" d.i.c.k wondered in spite of himself.