THE CLASS COMMITTEE CALLS
Outwardly A company and the entire corps of cadets was as placid
and unruffled as ever when the two battalions marched to breakfast
that morning.
One conversant with military procedure, however, would have noted
that Jordan, being a prisoner, marched in the line of the file
closers.
And Mr. Jordan's face was wholly sulky, strive as he would to
banish the look and appear indifferent.
Even to a fellow naturally as unsocial as the cadet now in arrest,
it was no joke to be confined to his tent even for the space of
a week, except when engaged in official duties; and to be obliged,
two afternoons in a week, to march in full equipment and carry
his piece, for three hours in the barracks quadrangle under the
watchful eyes of a cadet corporal.
This penalty would last during the remaining weeks of the encampment
and would be pronounced upon Jordan as soon as the commandant of
cadets perfunctorily confirmed the temporary order of Lieutenant
Denton.
Dick, at the head of A company, looked as impassive as ever, though
he felt far from comfortable.
Through the ranks, wherever first classmen walked, excitement
was seething.
When Prescott was seated at table in the cadet mess hall, Greg,
who sat next his chum, turned and raised his eyebrows briefly, as
though to say:
"There's something warm in the air."
Dick's momentary glance in return as much as said:
"I know it."
None of the other cadets at the same table turned to address Prescott
directly, with the single exception of Greg Holmes. True, when
Dick had occasion, twice or thrice, to address other men at his
table, they answered him, though briefly.
Whatever was in the air it had not broken yet. That was as much
as Prescott could guess.
The instant that they had returned to camp, and the two chums
were in their tent, Greg whispered fiercely:
"That sulker, Jordan, is putting up trouble for you, as sure as
you're alive."
"Then I've given him a bully handle to his weapon," admitted Dick
Prescott dryly.
They were hustling into khaki field uniform now, and there was
little time for comment; none for Greg to go outside and find
out what was really in the air. Battery drill was right ahead
of them. Barely were the chums changed to khaki field uniform
before the call sounded on the bugle.
On the recall from battery drill, the chums had but a few moments
before they were called out for a drill in security and information.
So the time passed until dinner. Again Jordan marched in the
line of the file closers, and now this first classman had received
his official sentence from the commandant of cadets.
So far as the demeanor of the class toward Prescott was concerned,
dinner was an exact repetition of breakfast.
On the return of the corps to camp, a few minutes followed that
were officially assigned to recreation.
Dick stood just inside the door of his tent when he heard the tread
of several men approaching.
Looking out, he saw seven men of his own class coming up. Durville
was at their head.
"Good afternoon, Prescott," began Durville.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," nodded Dick.
"We represent the class in a little matter," continued Durville,
"and I have been asked to be the spokesman. Can you spare us a
little time?"
"All the time that I have before the call sounds for my next drill,"
replied Prescott.
"Mr. Prescott, you reported a member of our class last night," began
Durville.
"I did so officially," Dick answered.
"Of course, Mr. Prescott, we understand that. The offender was
a member of A company, and you are the cadet captain of that company.
But this affair happened at the guard line, and you were not cadet
officer of the day. Mr. Jordan feels that you exerted yourself to
catch him in his delinquency."
"I did not," replied Prescott promptly. "At the time when I called
upon the cadet sentry to apprehend Mr. Jordan, I had not the remotest
idea that it was Mr. Jordan."
"Then," asked Durville bluntly, "how did you, who were not the
cadet officer of the day, happen to be where you could catch Mr.
Jordan so neatly?"
"In that matter I have no explanation to offer," Prescott replied.
One less a stickler for duty than Prescott might have replied that
he had been on the spot the night before in obedience to a special
order from the officer in charge.
Dick Prescott, however, felt that to make such a statement would
be a breach of military faith. The order that he had received
from Lieutenant Denton he looked upon as a confidential military
order that could not be discussed, except on permission or order
from competent military sources.
"Now, Prescott," continued Cadet Durville almost coaxingly, "we
don't want to be hard on you, and we don't want to do anything
under a misapprehension. Can't you be more explicit?"
"I have already regretted my inability to go further into the
matter with you," Dick replied, pleasantly though firmly.
"And you can give us no explanation whatever of how you came to
report Jordan for being beyond the camp limits?"
"All I am able to tell you is that my reporting of Mr. Jordan
was a regrettable but military necessity."
"Is that all we wish to ask, gentlemen?" inquired Durville, turning
to his six companions.
"It ought to be," retorted Brown dryly.
The seven nodded very coldly. Durville turned on his heel, leading
the others away.
"Unless I'm a poor kitchen judge, old ramrod, your goose is cooked,"
muttered Greg Holmes mournfully.
"Then it will have to be," spoke Dick resolutely.
"But you haven't told even me how you came to be, last night, just
where you could fall afoul of Jordan so nicely."
"Old chum," cried Dick, turning and resting a hand on Greg's right
arm, "I can discuss that matter no further with you than I did with
the class committee."
"You're a queer old extremist, anyway, with all your notions of
duty and other bugaboos. This affair has given me the shivers."
"Then cheer up, Holmesy!" laughed Cadet Captain Prescott.
"Oh, it's you I'm shivering for," muttered Greg.