DICK PRESCOTT'S THIRD YEAR AT WEST POINT
or
Standing Firm for Flag and Honor
By H. Irving Hancock
CONTENTS
CHAPTERS
I. On Furlough in the Old Home Town
II. Brass Meets Gold
III. Dick & Co. Again
IV. What About Mr. Cameron?
V. Along a "Dangerous" Road
VI. The Surprise the Lawyer Had in Store
VII. Prescott Lays a Powder Trail
VIII. A Father's Just Wrath Strikes
IX. Back to the Good, Gray Life
X. The Scheme of the Turnback
XI. Brayton Makes a Big Appeal
XII. In the Battle Against Lehigh
XIII. When the Cheers Broke Loose
XIV. For Auld Lang Syne
XV. Heroes and a Sneak
XVI. Roll-Call Gives the Alarm
XVII. Mr. Cadet Slowpoke
XVIII. The Enemies Have an Understanding
XIX. The Traitor of the Riding Hall
XX. In Cadet Hospital
XXI. The Man Moving in a Dark Room
XXII. The Row in the Riding Detachment
XXIII. The Degree of "Coventry"
XXIV. Conclusion
CHAPTER I
ON FURLOUGH IN THE OLD HOME TOWN
"My son, Richard. He is home on his furlough from the Military
Academy at West Point."
Words would fail in describing motherly pride with which Mrs.
Prescott introduced her son to Mrs. Davidson, wife of the new
pastor.
"I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Prescott," said Mrs. Davidson,
looking up, for up she had to glance in order to see the face of
this tall, distinguished-looking cadet.
Dick Prescott's return bow was made with the utmost grace, yet
without affectation. His natty straw hat he held in his right
hand, close to his breast.
Mrs. Davidson was a sensible and motherly woman, who wished to
give this young man the pleasantest greeting, but she was plainly
at a loss to know what to say. Like many excellent and ordinarily
well-informed American people, she had not the haziest notions
of West Point.
"You are learning to be a soldier, of course?" she asked.
"Yes, Mrs. Davidson," replied Dick gravely. Neither in his face
nor in his tone was there any hint of the weariness with which
he had so often, of late, heard this aimless question repeated.
"And when you are through with your course there," pursued Mrs.
Davidson, "do you enlist in the Army? Or may you, if you prefer,
become a sailor in our--er--Navy?"
"Oh, I fear, Mrs. Davidson, that you don't understand," smiled
Mrs. Prescott proudly. My son is now going through a very rigorous
four years' course at the Military Academy. It is a course that
is superior, in most respects to a college training, but that
it is devoted to turning out commissioned officers for the Army.
When Richard graduates, in two years more, he will be commissioned
by the President as a second lieutenant in the Army."
"Oh, I understood you to say that you were training to become
a soldier, Mr. Prescott," cried Mrs. Davidson in some confusion.
"I did not understand that you would become an officer."
"An officer who is not also a good soldier is a most unfortunate
and useless fellow under the colors," laughed Dick lightly.
"But it is so much more honorable to be an officer than to be
a mere soldier!" cried the pastor's wife.
"We do not think so in the army, Mrs. Davidson," Dick answered
more responsibility, to be sure, but we feel that the honor falls
alike on men of all grades of position who are privileged to wear
their country's uniform."
"But don't the officers look down on the common soldiers?" asked
Mrs. Davidson curiously.
"If an officer does, then surely he has chosen the wrong career
in life, madam," the cadet replied seriously. "We are not taught
at West Point that an officer should 'look down' upon an enlisted
man. There is a gulf of discipline, but none of manhood, between
the enlisted man and his officer. And it frequently happens that
the officer who is a graduate from West Point is called upon to
welcome, as a brother officer, a man who has just been promoted from
the ranks."
Mrs. Davidson looked puzzled, as, indeed, she was. But she suddenly
remembered something that made her feel more at ease.
"Why, I saw an officer and some soldiers on a train, the other
day," she cried. "The officer had at least eight or ten soldiers
with him, under his command. I remember what a fine-looking young
man he was. He had what looked like two V's on his sleeve, and
I remember that they were yellow. What kind of an officer is
the man who wears the two yellow V's?"
"A non-commissioned officer, Mrs. Davidson; a corporal of cavalry."
"Was he higher that you'll be when you graduate from West Point?"
"No; a corporal is an enlisted man, a step above the private soldier.
The sergeant is also an enlisted man, and above the corporal.
Above the sergeant comes the second lieutenant, who is the lowest-ranking
commissioned officer."
"Oh, I am sure I never could understand it all," sighed Mrs. Davidson.
"Why don't they have just plain soldiers and captains, and put
the captains in a different color of uniform? Then ordinary people
could comprehend something about the Army. But in describing that
young soldier's uniform, I forgot something, Mr. Prescott. That
young soldier, or officer, or whatever he was, beside the two
yellow V's, had a white stripe near the hem of his cuff."
"Just one white stripe?" queried Dick.
"Just one, I am sure."
"Then that one white stripe would show that the corporal, before
entering the cavalry, had served one complete enlistment in the
infantry."
"Oh, this is simply incomprehensible!" cried the new pastor's wife
in comical dismay. "I am certain that I could never learn to know
all these things."
"It is a little confusing at first," smiled Dick's mother with
another show of pride. "But I think I am beginning to understand
quite a lot of it."
Mrs. Davidson went out of the bookstore conducted by Dick's parents
in the little city of Gridley. Dick sighed a bit wearily.
"Why don't Americans take a little more pains to understand things
American?" he asked his mother, with a comical smile. "People
who would be ashamed not to know something about St. Peter's,
at Rome, or the London Tower, are not quite sure what the purpose
of the United States Military Academy is."
Yet, though some people annoyed him with their foolish questions,
he was heartily glad to be back, for the summer, in the dear old
home town. So was his chum, Greg Holmes, also a West Point cadet,
and, like Prescott, a member of the new second class at the United
States Military Academy. Both young men had now been in Gridley
for forty-eight hours. They had met a host old-time friends,
including nearly all of the High School students of former days.
Readers of "_Dick Prescott's First Year at West Point_" and of "_Dick
Prescott's Second Year at West Point_," are familiar with the careers
of the two chums, Prescott and Holmes, at the United States Military
Academy. The same readers are also familiar with the life at
West Point of Bert Dodge, a former Gridley boy, but who had been
appointed a cadet from another part of the state. Our old readers
are aware of the fact that Dodge had been forced out of the Military
Academy for dishonorable conduct; that it was the cadets, not
the authorities, who had compelled his departure, and that Dodge
resigned and left before the close of his second year.
Readers of these volumes of the _High School Boys' Series_ know
all about Bert Dodge in the course of his career at Gridley High
School. Dodge, back in the old days in Gridley, had been a persistent
enemy of Dick & Co., as Prescott and his five chums had always
been called in the High School. Of those five chums Greg, as
is well known, was Dick's comrade at West Point. Dave Darrin
and Dan Dalzell were now midshipmen at the United States Naval
Academy at Annapolis. Their adventures while learning to be United
States Navel officers, are fully set forth in The Annapolis Series.
Tom Reade and Harry Hazelton had chosen to go West, where they
became civil engineers engaged in railway construction through
the wild parts of the country, as fully set forth in the _Young
Engineers' Series_.
Just after Mrs. Davidson left the bookstore there were no customers
left, so Dick had a few moments in which to chat with his mother.
"What has become of the fellow Dodge?" asked the young West Pointer.
"Oh, haven't I told you?" asked his mother. A shade of annoyance
crossed her face, for she well knew that it was Dodge who, while
at West Point, had nearly succeeded in having her son dismissed
from the Service on a charge of which Dodge, not Dick, was guilty.
"No, mother; and I haven't thought to ask."
"Bert Dodge is here in Gridley at present. The Dodge family are
occupying their old home here for a part of the summer."
"Do people here understand that Dodge had to resign from West Point
in order to escape a court-martial that would have bounced him out
of the Military Academy?" Dick inquired.
"No; very few know it. I have mentioned Dodge's disgrace to only
one person beside your father."
"You told Laura Bentley?"
"Yes, Dick. She had a right to know. Laura has always been your
loyal friend. When she reached West Point, last winter, expecting
to go to a cadet hop with you, she remained at West Point until
you had been tried by court-martial and acquitted on that unjust
charge. Laura had a right to know the whole story."
"She surely had," nodded Dick.
"As to Gridley people in general," went on Mrs. Prescott, "I have
not felt it necessary to say anything, and folks generally believe
that Bert Dodge resigned from the corps of cadets simply because
he did not find Army life to his liking."
"He wouldn't have found it to his liking had he chosen not to
resign," smiled Prescott darkly.
"Are you going to say anything about Dodge while you are home?"
inquired his mother, glancing up quickly.
"Not a word, if I can avoid it," replied Dick. "I hate tale-bearers."
At this moment the postman came in, blowing his whistle and rapidly
sorting out a pile of letters, which he dropped on the counter.
"There are probably a lot here for me, mother," smiled Dick. "Shall
I separate then from the business mail?"
"If you will, my boy."
Some dozen of the envelopes proved to be addressed to young Prescott.
Of these two were letters frown West Point classmates. Three
were from old friends in Gridley, sending him congratulations
and expressing the hope of meeting him during his furlough. The
remainder of the letters were mainly invitations of a social nature.
"Odd!" grinned the young soldier. When I was merely a High School
boy I could go a whole month without receiving anything resembling
a social invitation. Now I am receiving them at the rate of a
score a day."
"Well, a West Point cadet is some one socially, is he not?" smiled
Mrs. Prescott.
"I suppose so," nodded Dick. "The truth is, a cadet has so much
social attention paid to him that it is a wonder more of the fellows
are not spoiled."
"Are you going to accept any social invitations while you are home?"
asked his mother.
"That depends," Dick answered. "If invitations come from people
who were glad to see me when I was a High School boy here, then
I shall try to accept. But I don't care much about meeting who
didn't care about meeting me two years ago. Here is a note from
Miss Clara Deane, mother. She trusts that Greg and I can make
it convenient to call at her home next Saturday afternoon, and
meet some of her friends. When I attended Gridley Miss Deane
used to look down on me because I was a poor man's son. I believe
her set referred to me as a 'mucker.' At least, the fellows of
her set did. So I shall send Miss Deane a brief note of regret."
Dick continued to examine his mail while carrying on a running
fire of talk with his proud and happy mother.
"Oh, here is a very nice note from Susie Sharp," he murmured,
opening another epistle. "She is having quite a few friends at
the house this afternoon, and she begs that Greg and I will be
present. Miss Sharp was a very nice girl in the old days, although
she and I never happened to be very particular friends. Now, I
want to have all the time I can for my real friends of the old days."
"Miss Sharp would be very proud to entertain two men from West
Point," suggested his mother.
"That's just the reason," Dick answered. "Miss Sharp invites
us not because she was ever much a friend of ours, but simply
because she is anxious to entertain two cadets. She probably
reasons that it may give distinction to her afternoon tea, or
whatever the affair is."
"Then you are not going?" asked Mrs. Prescott.
"I hardly think so. Not unless Greg wishes it."
The next envelope that Dick picked up was addressed in Laura Bentley's
handwriting. Dick read for a moment, then announced:
"I have changed my mind. I shall go to call on Miss Sharp. Laura
urges me to, saying that Miss Sharp has been very kind to her in
the last year. If Laura wishes it, I'll go to call on any one."
At this moment Greg Holmes, tall, muscular, erect and looking
as though he had just come from the tailor's iron, stepped cheerily
into the store.
"Morning, old ramrod," hailed the other cadet. "I know you don't
mind that kind of talk, Mrs. Prescott. It's our term of affection
for Dick at West Point. Going through your invitations, are you?
Aren't they the bore, though. Especially as we had very few
invitations when we were High School boys in this same old town."
"You received one from Susie: Sharp, of course?"
"Yes," Greg assented. "And I'm going---not!"
"You are going---yes!" Dick retorted.
"Oh!" nodded Greg. "Am I entitled to any explanation?"
"Laura wishes it."
"That's a whole platoon of reasons boiled down into one file-closer,"
grinned Greg. "Yes; I am going to visit Miss Sharp this afternoon."
"Have you heard that Bert Dodge is in town at present?"
"No!" muttered Greg. Then added tersely: "The b.j.(fresh) rascal!
I wonder what folks here think of a sneak who was forced to resign
by a cadet committee on honor?"
"Folks here don't know that Dodge was forced out of the Academy."
"Thank you for telling me," nodded Greg. "Then I shall know how
to keep my mouth shut. Laura will be a Miss Sharp's this afternoon,
of course?"
"Naturally. And Belle Meade, also."
"Then," proposed Greg, "suppose we 'phone the girls and ask if
we may call this afternoon and escort them to Miss Sharp's. We
must do something to show that we appreciate their loyalty in
remaining at West Point last winter until your name was cleared
of disgrace."
"Yes; we'll 'phone them," nodded Dick.
On both days, so far, that he had been home, Dick had called at
Dr. Bentley's to see Laura. In fact, that was the only calling
he had done, though he had met scores of friends on the street.
Both young ladies were pleased to accept the proffered escort.
"By the way," proposed Greg, "what are you going to do this morning?"
"Going out for a walk, for one thing," replied Dick. "I've talked
to mother until she must have ear-ache on both sides, and feel
tired of having me home."
"What do you saw if we trot around and extract handshakes from
some of the follows we used to pack schoolbooks with?" hinted
Holmes. "For instance, Ennerton is down at the bank, in a new
job. Foss is advertising manager in Curlham & Peck's department
store. I know he'll be glad to see us if we don't take up too
much of his employer's time. Then Ted Sanders-----"
And so Greg continued to enumerate a lot of the old Gridley High
School boys of whose present doings he had gotten track. Dick
and Greg left the bookstore and started on the rounds to hunt up
the best remembered of their old schoolmates.
And a pleasant morning they had of it. Thought the sun poured
down its heat over the little city, these two cadets, who had
drilled for two summers on the blistering plain and the dusty
roads at West Point, did not notice the warmth of the day.
In the afternoon, in good season, Dick called for Laura, waiting
there until Belle Meade arrived under the escort of Greg.
"These West Pointers make the most correct and attentive escorts
imaginable," laughed Belle. "But there's just one disadvantage
connected with them."
"I hadn't noticed it," smiled Laura.
"Why, when Greg walks beside me, and holds my parasol, I feel
as though I were in the street with my parasol tied to the Methodist
steeple. Where's your rice powder, Laura? I'm sure the sun has
made a sight of my nose and neck."
Laughing merrily, the young people set off for Miss Sharp's.
The home was a comfortable one, with attractive grounds, for the
elder Sharp was a well-to-do merchant. Some three score of young
people were present, and of these nearly two thirds had belonged
to the High School student body in the old High School days of
Dick and Greg. Naturally, the young ladies outnumbered the young
men by more than four to one.
"Oh, I am delighted that you two have come," cried Susie, moving
forward to greet her cadet visitors. This was wholly true, for
Miss Sharp had planned the affair solely in order to have the
distinction of entertaining the young West Pointers. Had Dick
and Greg remained away, Susie, without doubt, would have been
both disappointed and humiliated.
Through the connecting drawing rooms Dick and Greg moved with
a grace and lack of consciousness greatly in contrast with their
semi-awkwardness in their earlier High School days. Many pleasant
acquaintances were renewed here.
Suddenly, Susie, catching a glimpse of the front walk, hastened
out into the hallway. Then she came in, smiling eagerly, a well-dressed,
pompous-looking young man at her side.
"Mr. Prescott! Mr. Holmes!" called Susie. "Here is an old comrade
whom you both may be surprised to meet!"
Dick and Greg turned, and indeed, they were astonished. For the
latest arrival was Bert Dodge!
"Howdy, fellows!" called Dodge carelessly, though inwardly he was
quaking with alarm. How would these two decent cadets treat the
fellow who had been kicked out of West Point for dishonorable acts?
Prescott bowed, but did not speak. Greg's line of conduct was
identical with his chum's.
Bert turned white, at first, with mortification. Then a red flush
set in at his neck, extending to his face and temples. But Dodge
possessed "brass," if not honor, so he decided to face it out.
Turning to a young woman standing nearby, Bert spoke to her, and
they laughed and chatted. From her, Bert passed through the room
nodding here, chatting there.
Dick and Greg, after the first look of amazement, followed by their
cold bows, had turned to the old friends with whom they had been
chatting.
In the course of a few minutes Bert Dodge had got along close to
the two cadets.
"How are you, Prescott?" called Bert. "How is good old West Point?
And you, Holmes---how are you?"
Dodge held out his hand with all the effrontery of which he was
capable.
Turning, Dick gave the sneak only a cold, steady look.