A LETTER.
"MY DEAR FISCHER: I promised to drop you a line just
to let you know how I'm getting along, though it does
take a tremendous pile of energy to write a letter on
a hot afternoon like this. I'm sure I shall go to
sleep in the middle of it, and naturally, too, for
even writing to you is enough to bore anybody. I can
almost imagine you leaning over to whack at me in
return for that compliment.
"Well, I am home on furlough; and I don't know whether
I wish I were back or not, for I fear that you will
have cut me out on all the girls, especially since you
are a high and mighty first captain this year.
Speaking of girls, you just ought to be here. The
girls at West Point are _blase_ on cadets, for they
see so many; but here a West Point officer is cock of
the walk, and I have to fight a jealous rival once a
week."
Cadet Captain Fischer dropped the letter at this stage of it and lay
back and laughed.
"Wicks Merritt's evidently forgotten I was on furlough once myself," he
said. "He's telling me all about how it goes."
"What's he got to say?" inquired Williams, the speaker's tentmate,
looking up from the gun he was cleaning.
"Oh, nothing much; only a lot of nonsense--jollying as usual. Wicks
always is."
And then Fischer picked up the letter again, and went on.
The two were seated near the door of a tent in "Company A Street," at
Camp McPherson. Fischer was lying in front of the tent "door," which was
open to admit the morning breeze that swept across the parade ground.
His friend sat over in an opposite corner and rubbed away.
There was silence of some minutes, broken only by the sound of the
polishing and the rustling of Fischer's paper. And then the latter spoke
again.
"Oh, say!" said he. "Here's something that'll interest you, Billy.
Something about your friend Mallory."
"Fire away," said Williams.
"'By the way, when you answer this let me know
something about my pet and _protege_, future football
captain of the West Point eleven. The last time I
heard from where you are, Mark Mallory was raising
Cain. I heard that he was a B. J. plebe for fair; that
he'd set to work to make war on the yearlings, and had
put them to rout in style; also, incidentally, that
he was scheduled to fight Billy Williams, the
yearling's pet athlete. Tell Billy I hope the plebe
does him; tell him I say that if Mallory once whacks
him on the head with that right arm of his he'll see
more stars from the lick than the Lick telescope can
show----'"
"Billy" broke in just then with a dismal groan.
"I don't know whether that's because of the pun," laughed Fischer, "or
because of your recollection of the blow. However, I'll proceed.
"'Now, I don't care how much you fellows haze my
Mallory; he's tough and he can stand it. He'll
probably give you tit for tat every time, anyhow. But
I do want to say this--watch out that nobody tries any
foul play on him, skins him on demerits or reports him
unfairly. Do me a favor and keep your eye out for
that. Watch particularly Bull Harris, who is, I think,
the meanest sneak in the yearling class, and also his
chum, Gus Murray.
"'I know it for a fact that Mallory caught Bull in a
very dirty act about a month ago and knocked spots out
of him for it. I can't tell you what the act was; but
Bull has sworn vengeance and he'll probably try to get
it, so watch for me. If you let Mallory get into
trouble, mind what I say, I'll never forgive you as
long as you live. I'll cut you out with Bessie Smith,
who, they say, is your fair one at present. Mallory is
a treasure, and when you know him as well as I you'll
think so, too.'"
Cadet Captain Fischer dropped the letter, sat up, and stared at
Williams; and Williams stared back. There was disgust on the faces of
both.
"By George!" cried the latter at last, striking his gunstock in the
ground. "By George! we've let 'em do it already!"
And after that there was a silence of several unpleasant minutes, during
which each was diligently thinking over the situation.
"He's a fine fellow, anyway," continued Williams. "And we were a pack of
fools to let that Bull Harris gang soak him as we did. They've gone to
work and given him ninety-five demerits in a week on trumped-up charges.
And it's perfectly outrageous, that's what it is! The plebe's
confoundedly fresh, of course, but he's a gentleman for all that, and he
don't deserve one-quarter of the demerits he's gotten. The decent
fellows in the class ought to be ashamed of themselves."
"That's what I say! He only has to get five demerits more and then he's
fired for good."
"Which means," put in the officer, "that's he's sure to be fired by next
week."
"Exactly! And then what will Wicks say? I went over to barracks to see
Mallory about it yesterday; he's nearly heart-broken, for he's worked
like a horse to get here, and now he's ruined--practically expelled.
Yet, what can we do?"
"Can't he hand in explanations and get the demerits excused?" suggested
Fischer.
"No, because most of the charges had just enough basis of truth in them
to make them justifiable. I tell you I was mad when he told me about it;
I vowed I'd do something to stop it. Yet what on earth can I do? I can't
think of a thing except to lick that fellow Bull Harris and his crowd.
But what possible good will that do Mallory?"
"Mallory will probably do that himself," remarked Fischer, smiling for a
moment; his face became serious again as he continued. "I begin to agree
with you, Billy, about that thing. I've heard several tales about how
Mallory outwitted Bull in his hazing adventures, and the plebe's
probably made him mad. It's a dirty revenge Bull has taken, and I think
if it's only for Wicks' sake I'll put a stop to it."
"You!" echoed Williams. "Pray, how?"
"What am I a first captain for?" laughed Fischer. "Just you watch me and
see what I do! I can't take off the ninety-five, but I can see that he
don't get the other five, by Jingo! And I will do it for you, too!"
And with that, the cadet arose and strode out of the tent, leaving his
friend to labor at the gun in glum and disconsolate silence.
At the same time that Williams and Fischer were discussing the case of
this particularly refractory plebe, there were other cadets doing
likewise, but with far different sentiments and views. The cadets were
Bull Harris and his cronies.
They were sitting--half a dozen of them--beneath the shade trees of
Trophy Point at the northern end of the parade ground; they were waiting
for dinner, and the afternoon, which, being Saturday, was a holiday and
for which they had planned some particular delicious hazing adventure.
Foremost among them was Bull Harris himself, seated upon one of the
cannon. Beside him was Baby Edwards. Gus Murray sat on Bull's other side
and made up a precious trio.
Murray was laughing heartily at something just then, and the rest of the
crowd seemed to appreciate the joke immensely.
"Ho! ho!" said he. "Just think of it! After I had soaked the confounded
plebe for fifty and more, ho! ho! they got suspicious up at headquarters
and transferred me, and ho! ho! put M-m-merry Vance on instead, and he,
ho! ho! soaked him all the harder!"
And Gus Murray slapped his knee and roared at this truly humorous state
of affairs.
"Yes," chimed in Merry Vance. "Yes, I thought when Gus told me he'd been
transferred again that we'd lost our chance to skin Mallory for fair.
And the very next night up gets the adjutant and reads off the orders
putting me on duty over the plebes. Oh, gee! Did you ever hear the
like?"
"Never," commented Bull, grinning appreciatively.
"Never," chimed in Baby's little voice. "Positively never!"
"Tell us about it," suggested another. "What did you do?"
"Oh, nothing much," replied Vance. "I went up there at the A. M.
inspection, and I just made up my mind to give him twenty demerits, and
I did it, that's all. They had spruced up out of sight; but it didn't
take me very long to find something wrong, I tell you."
"I guess not!" agreed Baby.
"I gave him the twenty, as you saw; and say, you ought to have seen how
sick he looked! Ho! ho!"
And then the crowd indulged in another fit of violent hilarity.
"I guess," said Bull, when this had finally passed, "that we can about
count Mallory as out for good. He's only got five more demerits to run
before dismissal, and he'll be sure to get those in time, even if we
don't give 'em to him--which, by the way, I mean to do anyhow. But we'll
just parcel 'em one at a time just enough to keep him worried, hey?"
"That's it exactly!" commented the Baby.
"He deserves it every bit!" growled Bull. "He's the B. J.est 'beast'
that ever struck West Point. Why, we could never have a moment's peace
with that fellow around. We couldn't haze anybody. He stopped us half a
dozen times."
The sentiment was the sentiment of the whole gang; and they felt that
they had cause to be happy indeed. Their worst enemy had been disposed
of and a man might breathe freely once more. The crowd could think of
nothing to talk about that whole morning but that B. J. "beast" and his
ruin.
They found something, however, before many more minutes passed. Bull
chanced to glance over his shoulder in the direction of the camp.
"Hello!" he said. "Here comes Fischer."
"Good-afternoon, Mr. Fischer," said Bull.
"Good-afternoon," responded the officer, with obvious stiffness; and
then there was an awkward silence, during which he surveyed them in
silence.
"Mr. Harris," he said, at last, "I'd like to speak to you for a moment;
and Mr. Murray, and you, too, Mr. Vance."
The three stepped out of the group with alacrity, and followed Fischer
over to a seat nearby, while the rest of the gang stood and stared in
surprise, speculating as to what this could possibly mean.
The three with the officer were finding out in a hurry.
"I am told," began the latter, gazing at them, with majestic sternness,
"that you three are engaged in skinning a certain plebe----"
"Why, Mr. Fischer!" cried the three, in obvious surprise.
"Don't interrupt me!" thundered the captain in a voice that made them
quake, and that reached the others and made them quake, too.
"Don't interrupt me! I know what I am talking about. I was a yearling
once myself, and I'm a cadet still, and there's not the least use trying
to pull the wool over my eyes. I know there never yet was a plebe who
got fifty demerits in one day and deserved them."
The captain did not fail to notice here that the trio flushed and looked
uncomfortable.
"You all know, I believe," he continued, "just exactly what I think of
you. I've never hesitated to say it. Now, I want you to understand in
the first place that I know of this contemptible trick, and that also I
know the plebe, who's worth more than a dozen of you; and that if he
gets a demerit from any one of you again I'll make you pay for it as
sure as I'm alive. Just remember it, that's all!"
And with this, the indignant captain turned upon his heel, and strode
off, leaving the yearlings as if a bombshell had landed in their midst.
"Fischer's a confounded fool!" Bull Harris broke out at last.
"Just what he is!" cried the Baby. "I'd like to knock him over."
And after that there was silence again, broken only by the roll of a
drum that meant dinner.
"Well," was Bull's final word, as the crowd set out for camp, "it's
unfortunate, I must say. But it won't make the least bit of difference.
Mallory'll get his demerits sure as he's alive, and Fischer's
interference won't matter in the least."
"That's what!" cried the rest of them.