"Relieving nurse-maids of their responsibilities is no part of a cadet's training or duty."

"Well, 'be good and you'll be happy'---but you won't have a good time," laughed Greg, who, having finished his inspection of himself in the tiny gla.s.s, was now ready to depart.

"On your way, Holmesy," nodded d.i.c.k, glancing at the time. "It's a long walk, even for a cadet, to Captain Steele's quarters."

Greg went away, humming under his breath.

"There's a chap whom care rarely hits," mused d.i.c.k, looking half enviously after his chum. "I wonder really if he ever will marry?"

Presently d.i.c.k picked up his camp chair and placed it just outside at the door of his tent. It was pleasant to sit there in the semi-gloom.

But presently he began to wonder, a little, that none of the fellows dropped around for a chat, for he was aware that a number of the first cla.s.smen were not booked for the hop that night.

From time to time d.i.c.k saw a first cla.s.sman enter or leave the tent of Cadet Jordan.

"He seems unusually popular to-night," thought Prescott, with a smile. "Well, better late than never. Poor Jordan has never been much of a favorite before. I wonder if my reporting him to-day has made the fellows take more notice of him? It is a rare thing, these days, for a first cla.s.sman to be confined to his company street."

For Prescott the evening became, in fact, so lonely that presently he rose, left the encampment and strolled along the road leading to the West Point Hotel. On other than hop nights, this road was likely to be crowded with couples. That night, however, nearly all of the young ladies at West Point had been favored with invitations to Cullum Hall.

Tattoo was sounding just as Prescott crossed the line at post number one on reentering camp. In half an hour more, it would be taps. At taps, all lights in tents were expected to be out, and the cadets, save those actually on duty, to be in their beds.

An exception was made in favor of cadets who had received permission to escort young ladies to the hop. Each cadet who had to return to the hotel, or to officers' quarters with a young lady had received the needed permission, and the time it would take him to go to the young lady's destination and return to camp was listed at the guard tent. Any cadet who took more than the permitted time to escort his partner of the hop to her abiding place would be subject for report.

However, the special duty imposed upon Cadet Prescott for this night related to plebes, and plebes do not go to the hops.

Bringing out his camp chair, d.i.c.k sat once more before his tent.

Down at Jordan's tent he could still hear the low hum of cadet voices.

"Something is certainly going on there," mused Prescott.

For a moment or two he felt highly curious; then he repressed that feeling.

"Good evening, Prescott."

"Oh, good evening, Stubbs."

Cadet Stubbs came to a brief halt before the cadet captain's tent.

"I have been noticing that Jordan has a good many visitors this evening," d.i.c.k remarked.

"All from our cla.s.s, too, aren't they?" questioned Stubbs.

"Yes. If we were yearlings I should feel sure that they had a plebe or two in there. But first cla.s.smen don't haze plebes."

"No; we don't haze plebes," replied Cadet Stubbs with a half sigh, for Prescott was the only first cla.s.sman at present in camp who did not fully know just what was in progress at Jordan's tent.

But West Point men pride themselves on bearing no tales, so Stubbs repressed the longing to explain to d.i.c.k what Jordan was seeking to bring about.

As a matter of fact, though some of the members of the first cla.s.s were hot-headed enough to accept Jordan's view of the report against him, the cla.s.s sentiment was considerably against the motion to give Cadet Captain Richard Prescott the silence, even for a week.

However, none came near Prescott to talk it over. That again would be tale-bearing. d.i.c.k was not likely to hear of the move unless summoned to present his own defense in the face of cla.s.s charges.

Nor would Greg be approached on the subject. The accused man's roommate or tentmate is always left out of the discussion.

Taps sounded; almost immediately the lights in the tents went out. Stillness settled over the encampment.

The fact that a single candle remained lighted in Prescott's tent showed that he had permission to run a light. The a.s.sumption would be that he was engaged on some official duty, though the fact of running a light did not in any way betray the nature of that duty.

d.i.c.k sat inside at first. Then, one by one, the cadets returning from the hop stepped through the company streets. At last Greg Holmes came in.

"Still engaged, Holmesy?" asked d.i.c.k, looking up with a quizzical smile.

"Surest thing on the post!" returned Greg, with a radiant smile.

He had the look of being a young man very much in love and utterly happy over his good fortune.

"Going to run a light?" asked Holmes, gaping, as he swiftly disrobed.

"Yes; but I'll throw the tin can around so that the blaze won't be in your eyes."

"It won't anyway," retorted Greg, turning down the cover of his bed. "I'll turn my back on the glim."

The "tin can" is a device time-honored among cadets in the summer encampment. It is merely a reflector, made of an old tin can, that increases and concentrates the brilliancy of the candle light.

The "tin can" may also be used in such a way as to throw a large part of a tent in semi-darkness.

Two minutes later, Greg's breathing proclaimed the fact that this cadet was sound asleep.

d.i.c.k, stifling a yawn---for it had been a long, hard and busy day---threw a look of envy toward his chum. Then, in uniform, Prescott stepped out into the company street.

It was a dark, starless night; an ideal night to a plebe who wanted to run the guard and put in some time outside of the camp limits.

Keeping as much in the shadow as he could, Prescott stepped along until he came near one of the sentry lines.

For some time he stood thus, eyes and ears alert, though he lounged in the shadow where he was not likely to be seen.

"It's an off night for plebe mischief, I reckon," he murmured at last. "All the plebes are good little boys to-night, and safely tucked in their cribs."

At last, when it was near midnight, Prescott came out from his place of semi-concealment and stepped over near the guard line.

It was not long ere a yearling sentry, with bayonet fixed and gun resting over his right shoulder, came pacing toward the first cla.s.sman.

Recognizing a cadet officer, the yearling sentry halted, holding his piece at "present arms."

"Walk your post," d.i.c.k directed, after having returned the salute.

Had Prescott been a cadet private the sentry would have questioned him as to his reasons for being out after taps. But with a cadet captain it was different. Though Prescott was not cadet officer of the day, he was privileged to have official reasons for being out without making an accounting to the sentry.

Slowly the yearling sentry paced down to the further end of his post. Then he came back again. Having saluted Prescott recently, he did not pause now, but kept on past the cadet officer standing there in the shadow.

As the sentry's footsteps again sounded softer in the distance, Prescott suddenly became aware of something not far away from him.