JORDAN REACHES OUT FOR REVENGE
"Hello, there, Stubbs!" called Jordan from the doorway of his
tent.
"Oh, that you, Jordan?" called Stubbs.
"Yes; come in, won't you?"
Cadet Stubbs, of the first class, looked slightly surprised, for
he had never been an intimate of this particular cadet.
"What's the matter?" asked Stubbs, pushing aside the tent flap
and stepping into the tent.
Then, remembering something he had heard, Stubbs continued quickly:
"You're in a little trouble of some kind, aren't you, old man?"
"Oh, I'm in con." growled Mr. Jordan.
"Con." is the brief designation for "confinement."
"Some report this morning, eh?"
"Yes; that dog Prescott sprung a roorback on me. Sit down, won't
you?"
"No, thank you," replied Cadet Stubbs more coolly. "Jordan, `dog'
is a pretty extreme word to apply to a brother cadet."
"Oh, are you one of that fellow's admirers?" demanded the man
in con.
"I've always been an admirer of manliness," replied Stubbs boldly.
"Then how can you stand for a bootlick?" shot out Jordan angrily.
"I don't stand for a bootlick," replied Cadet Stubbs. "I never
did."
"Now, I don't want to play baby," went on Jordan half eagerly.
"I'm not resenting, on my own account, what happened to-day.
But it was an outrage on general principles, for the affair made
a fool of me before a lot of new yearlings. Stubbs, we're first
classmen, and we shouldn't be humiliated before yearlings in this
manner."
"I wasn't there," replied Stubbs. "I was over at the rifle range,
you know."
"Then I'll tell you what happened."
Cadet Jordan began a narration of the scene that had ended in
his being relieved from engineering instruction that forenoon.
Jordan didn't exactly lie, which is always a dangerous thing
for a West Point cadet to do, but he colored his narrative so
cleverly as to make it rather plain that Cadet Prescott had acted
beyond his real authority.
"Still," argued Stubbs doubtfully, "there must have been some
reason. I've known Prescott ever since he entered the Academy,
and I never saw anything underhanded in him."
"I wouldn't call it underhanded, either," explained Jordan.
"Prescott's manner with me might much better be described as
overbearing."
"It would have been underhanded, had he reported you when you
were really doing nothing unmilitary or improper," interposed
Stubbs quickly.
"Are you trying to defend the fellow?" demanded Jordan swiftly.
"No; Prescott, I think, is always quite ready to attend to his
own defence. But I'm astonished, Jordan, at the charge you make
against him, and I'm trying to understand it."
"What I object to, more than anything else," insisted Jordan,
"was his making a fool of me before new yearlings. That is where
I think the greatest grievance lies. First classmen are men of
some dignity. We are not to be treated like plebes, especially
by any members of our own class who may be dressed in a little
brief authority. Sit down, won't you, Stubbs?"
"No, thank you, Jordan. I must be on my way soon."
"But I want to get you and a half a dozen other representative
first classmen together," wheedled Jordan. "I think we should
all talk this over as a strictly class matter. Then, if I'm convinced
that I'm in the wrong, I'm going to stop talking."
Crafty Jordan didn't mean exactly what he said.
He would stop talking, if convinced, but he didn't intend to be
convinced. He was after Dick Prescott's scalp. Jordan well knew
that, at West Point (and at Annapolis, too, for that matter) class
action against a man is severer and more irrevocable than even
any action that the authorities of the Military Academy itself
can take. He wanted to put Prescott wholly in the wrong in the
matter. Class action could, at need, drive Prescott out of the
corps and end his connection with the Army. For, if a man be
condemned by his class at West Point, the feud is carried over
into the Army as long as the offender against class ethics dares
try to remain in the service.
At the least, Jordan hoped to stir up class feeling to such an
extent that, if Prescott were not actually "cut" by class action,
at least his popularity would be greatly dimmed.
"So won't you take part in the meeting?" coaxed Jordan, as Cadet
Stubbs moved toward the door.
"I don't believe I will," replied Mr. Stubbs. "I'd feel out of
place in such a crowd, for I've always considered myself Prescott's
friend."
"Do you place your friendship for Prescott above the dignity and
honor of the class?" demanded Jordan.
Stubbs flushed.
"I don't believe I'll stay, Jordan, thank you. But I can offer
you some advice, if you feel in need of any."
"Yes? Commence firing!"
"Go slow in your grudge against Prescott. Personally, I don't
want to see either of you hurt."
"Oh, Prescott won't really be hurt," sneered Jordan. "He told
me flatly that he'd decline any calling out that I might attempt."
"You---you didn't try to call him out, did you?"
"I hinted that I might do so."
"Call him out for reporting you?"
"Oh, I didn't specify what the cause of the challenge would be,"
returned Jordan airily and with a knowing wink.
"Jordan, old fellow, you don't mean that you'd call a cadet out
for reporting you officially? Why, that's against every tenet
we have. And if such a challenge came to the ears of the
superintendent, or of the commandant of cadets, you'd be fired out
of the corps before you'd have time to turn around twice."
"Who'd carry the tale that I did call Prescott out?" retorted
Cadet Jordan, with a knowing leer.
"Prescott would, if he were a tenth part of the bootlick that
you represent him to be," replied Stubbs.
"Better stay, old man; and I'll call in a few others."
"No, sir," returned Cadet Stubbs, with a shake of his head. "The
further I go into this matter the less I like it. I'm on my way,
Jordan."
Within half an hour, however, Cadet Jordan had found three members
of the first class who were willing to listen to him. The matter
was threshed out very fully. Jordan, to his listeners, pooh poohed
at the idea that he was "sore" on his own account. He posed, and
rather well, as the champion of first-class dignity.
"I think you're on the right track, Jordan," assented Durville
rather heartily. Durville was one of the few who had never liked
Dick well. Durville had always been one of the "wild" ones, and
Prescott's ideas of soldierly duty had grated a good deal on Durville's
own beliefs.
"The class won't take severe action, anyway," hinted Tupper.
"We might vote to give Prescott a week's 'silence,' but any permanent
'cut' would be out of the question. The man has done too many
things to make himself popular."
"Besides," chimed in Brown, "look at the place Prescott holds
on the Army football eleven. Why he---and Holmes, too, of
course---were the pair who saved us from the Navy last November.
And we rely upon that pair to a tremendous extent for the
successes we expect this coming fall."
Jordan's jaw dropped. In the heat of his anger he had lost sight
of the football situation. Prescott and Holmes certainly were the
prize players of the Army eleven.
"Well, it might do if the class decided on the 'silence' for Prescott
for a week," assented Jordan dubiously.
Then, all of a sudden, he brightened as the thought flashed through
his mind:
"If Prescott gets the 'silence,' even for a day, he'll be so furious
that he'll do half a dozen fool things that I can provoke him
into. Then he'll go so far, in his wrath, that the class will
cut him for good and all, and he'll buy his ticket home!"
The more Jordan thought this over, while he pretended to be listening
to what his classmates were saying, the surer the cadet plotter
felt that he could work his enemy out of the corps within the
next week or so.
"Well, I dare say that you fellows are right in advising milder
measures," admitted Jordan at last. "Of course, though I try
not to let my personal feelings enter into this at all, yet I
suppose I can't keep my sense of outraged class dignity wholly
untainted by my personal feelings. Besides, the 'silence' for
a week will doubtless cover all the needs of the case, and I don't
bear the fellow any personal grudge, or I try not to."
"That's a sensible, manly view, Jordan," chimed in Brown, "and
it does you credit as a gentleman and a man of honor. Now, you
know, it's a fearful thing for a man who has reached the first
class to have to drop his Army career at the last moment. So
we'll try to bring the majority of the class around to the idea
of the week's 'silence.'"
"Now, lest it appear as though I were actuated by personal motives,"
continued Jordan, "I'll have to stand back and let you fellows do
the talking with the other men of the class."
"That's all right," nodded Durville. "We wholly understand the
delicacy of your position, and we can attend to it all right.
Besides, all we have to do, anyway, is to ascertain how the class
feels on the matter."
"Don't let it be lost sight of, though," begged Jordan, almost
betraying his over anxiety, "that it is a serious matter of class
dignity and honor."
"We won't, old man," promised Durville, as the visitors rose.
As soon as he was alone---for his tentmate was away on a cavalry
drill, Jordan rose, his eyes flashing with triumph.
"Dick Prescott, I believe I have you where I want you! What a
rage you'll be in, if you get the 'silence'! 'Whom the gods would
destroy they first make mad,'" Jordan went on, under his breath,
wholly unaware that he had parodied the meaning of that famous
quotation. "You'll rage with anger, Prescott. You'll do the
very things that will warrant the class in giving you the long
'cut.'"
The "silence" is a form of rebuke that the cadet corps, once in
many years, administers to one of the many Army officers who are
stationed over them. When the cadet corps decides to give an
officer the "silence," the proceeding is a unique one.
Whenever an officer under this ban approaches a group of cadets
they cease talking, and remain silent as long as he is near them.
They salute the officer; they make any official communications
that may be required, and do so in a faultlessly respectful manner;
they answer any questions addressed to them by the officer under
ban. But they will not talk, while he is within hearing, on anything
except matters of duty.
An officer under the ban of the "silence" may approach a gathering
of a hundred or more cadets, all talking animatedly until they
perceive his approach. Then, all in an instant, they become mute.
The officer may remain in their neighborhood for an hour, yet,
save upon an official matter, no cadet will speak until the officer
has moved on.
This "silence" may be given an officer for a stated number of
days, or it may be made permanent. It has sometimes happened
that an officer has been forced to ask a transfer from West Point
to some other Army station, simply because he could not endure
the "silence."
Very rarely, indeed, the silence is given to a cadet; it is more
especially applicable if he be a cadet officer who is in the habit
of reporting his fellow classmen for what they may consider
insufficient breaches of discipline.
The "cut" or "Coventry" is reserved for the cadet whom it is intended
to drive from the Army altogether. If a man at West Point is
"sent to Coventry" by the whole corps, or as a result of class
action, he will never be able to form friendships in the Army
again, no matter how long he remains in the Army, or how hard he
tries to fight the sentence down.
Cadet Jordan, as will have been noted, professed to be satisfied
if the class voted a week's "silence" to Dick Prescott, for Jordan
believed that by this time the tantalized young cadet captain
could be provoked into actions that would bring the imposition
of the "long silence" of permanent Coventry.
At the end of the busy cadet day, when the two cadet battalions
stood in formal array at dress parade, Cadet Adjutant Filson published
the day's orders.
One of these orders mentioned Jordan's confinement to the company
street, and added the further infliction of "punishment tours" to
be walked every Wednesday and Saturday afternoons.
"Oh, well," thought the culprit, savagely, "as I walk I can plan
newer and newer things. I'll go into the Army, and you, Prescott,
may become a freight clerk on a jerk-water railroad."
Unknown to either Jordan or Prescott at that moment, other
storm-clouds were gathering swiftly over the head of the popular
young cadet captain.