WHAT ABOUT MR. CAMERON?
One place that Dick Prescott made it a point to visit early in his
furlough was the office of the morning "Blade," for which paper, in
his old High School days, the cadet had worked as a local reporter
"on space."
A "space writer" is one who is paid so much per column for all
matter of his that is published in the paper.
Had it not been for the "Blade" Dick Prescott would not have been
as well supplied with pocket money as he had been during his High
School days.
Everyone about the "Blade" office, in the old days, had expected
that Prescott, at the end of his High School course, would join
the "Blade" staff as a "regular." But Dick had had his own plans
about West Point, although he had kept his intentions a secret
from nearly every one but his chums.
Early one bright June afternoon Dick strolled into the "Blade"
office.
"Why, hullo, my boy!" cried Editor Pollock, jumping up out of
his chair and coming forward, hand outstretched. Bradley, the
news editor, and Len Spencer, the "star" reporter, now growing
comically fat, rushed forward to meet the cadet.
"Sit down, Dick, and let's hear all about West Point," urged Mr.
Pollock, placing a chair beside his own, while the other members
of the staff crowded about. "What sort of a place is West Point,
and how do you like it there?"
Dick smilingly gave them a lively account of life at the United
States Military Academy.
"I hope you're keeping track of all this, Len," nodded the editor
to Reporter Spencer. "Tell us plenty more, too Dick. We want
to give you and Holmes at least a bully two-column write-up."
Dick's cheery look suddenly changed to one of mild alarm.
"Do you want to do me a big favor, Mr. Pollock?"
"Anything up to a page, my boy, and you know it," replied the
editor heartily. "We still regard you as one of the 'Blade' family."
"The favor I'm going to ask, Mr. Pollock, is that you don't give
Greg and myself a write-up."
The editor looked so hurt that Prescott made haste to add, earnestly:
"Please don't misunderstand me, Mr. Pollock. But you simply cannot
imagine the trouble that a fine write-up in a home paper may make
for a cadet. If I were a plebe, now, the upper classman would
get hold of the write-up, somehow, and they'd make me read it aloud,
at least a hundred times, while upper classmen stood about
and congratulated me on being such a fine fellow as the paper
described. As Greg and I are now second classman, we couldn't
be hazed in quite that way. But the other fellows would find
some other way of using that home-paper write-up as a club for
pounding us every now and then. Mr. Pollock, believe me, cadet
is mighty lucky whose home paper doesn't say anything about him."
"What is the matter?" asked the editor gravely. "Are the other
cadets jealous?"
"No; it isn't that," Prescott answered. "That sort of thing is
done, at West Point, to keep from getting the 'big head.' Probably
your memory goes back easily to the Spanish War days. You will
remember that Mr. Hobson, of the Navy, sank the Merrimac in the
harbor at Santiago, so that the Spanish ships, when they got out,
had to come out in single file. Mr. Hobson has a younger brother
then at the Military Academy. Well, the story still runs at West
Point that Military Cadet Hobson was forced to read aloud all
the best things about his brother in the Navy that the other cadets
could find in the newspapers. Besides that, Cadet Hobson, so
we are told today, had to 'sail' chips on a tub of water, at the
same time bombarding the chips with pebbles and cheering for his
brother. At West Point it doesn't pay a cadet to be famous, even
in the light of reflected glory. Now, that is why I beg you, not
to give Greg and myself the write-up that you propose."
"All right, then," sighed the editor.
"On the other hand, Mr. Pollock, I'll tell you all manner of lively
and printable facts about West Point, if you won't mention Greg
or myself or even mention the fact that Gridley has any cadets at
the Military Academy."
"That will have to answer," nodded Mr. Pollock. "But we wanted to
do something big for you, Dick."
"And you'll be doing something very big for us, if you don't mention
us at all," smiled Prescott.
So the "Blade" had a good deal of interesting reading about West
Point the next morning. Many Gridleyites were not satisfied because
neither Prescott nor Holmes was mentioned in connection with the
Military Academy.
The second time that Mr. Pollock met his former reporter was on
the street.
"I've been kicking myself, Dick, because I forgot something the
other day," declared the editor. "I have one of the nicest, gentlest
little trotting mares in this part of the state, and a very
comfortable light buggy with top and side curtains. I hardly
ever use the rig in hot weather. Now, won't you often have use
for a horse and buggy while you're at home? If so, just ring up
Getchel's Livery at any time, day or night, and tell 'em to hitch
up against your coming. Will you?"
Dick tried hard to find words in which to thank Mr. Pollock for
the generous offer.
First of all, Prescott took Holmes out driving, one forenoon, to
"try out" the mare. The little animal proved speedy but tractable---a
wholly safe driving horse.
"I'm not a betting man," quoth Greg, "but I'll lay a wager that
I can guess who gets the next drive behind this horse.
"Post your wager," laughed Dick gayly.
"Lau-----"
"Wrong! My mother gets the next drive."
And so she did, that same afternoon. But the following afternoon
Prescott, after a good deal of attention to his personal appearance,
walked to Getchel's and drove away from there behind the mare.
The next stop was at the house of Dr. Bentley.
Yet, when Cadet Prescott caught his first glimpse of the broad,
cool veranda of the doctor's house, the young man felt a sudden
throb of the heart.
Another young man---he looked to be somewhat under thirty---was
seated in a big rocker, close to Laura. Both young people were
laughing gayly before Miss Bentley caught sight of Dick.
"You're occupied, I see," called Prescott lightly, though the
tone cost him an effort.
"Come right up, Dick," called Laura, so the cadet leaped from
the buggy, hitching the horse. The he turned into the broad walk
and gained the veranda, where he was presented to Mr. Cameron.
Mr. Cameron greeted the cadet pleasantly, yet didn't seem overjoyed
at his presence. Nor did Mr. Cameron seem in the least inclined to
take himself away.
Usually most self-possessed, Dick Prescott fidgeted a trifle,
and felt uncomfortable now. He wondered if good taste did not call
for him to take himself away after a brief conversation. It was
Laura who finally came to the rescue.
"Dick," she laughed, "there's something on your mind. I'm afraid
I shall have to help you out. Did you come to ask me to go driving?"
"Yes," Dick nodded. "But of course I realize that some other time
will be better."
"Oh, don't let me spoil fun," begged Mr. Cameron, half rising,
as though hoping to be asked to seat himself again.
"Mr. Cameron," Miss Bentley replied sweetly, rising also as her
caller completed the act of getting upon his feet, "I know you
will excuse me now, rude as it seems in me to ask it. But Mr.
Prescott's time in Gridley is very limited, and we are all anxious
to see as much of him as possible."
"Say no more, Miss Bentley," begged Mr. Cameron, forcing a genial
smile. "Mr. Prescott, I congratulate you on having such a good
champion. Good afternoon, Laura. Good afternoon, Mr. Prescott;
I am very glad indeed to have had the pleasure of meeting you."
"I am most happy to have met you, sir; if it were not for my own
great good fortune, and my natural selfishness, I would feel most
regretful over being the means of distracting Miss Bentley's
attention."
Laura, as soon as she had extended her hand to Mr. Cameron, had
run inside to get her hat. By the time that Mr. Cameron had reached
the front gate Laura came out again, adjusting a wonderfully becoming
bit of headgear.
"I am almost ashamed of myself for having spoiled another's call,"
Prescott told her.
"Oh, don't mind about Mr. Cameron," laughed Laura lightly. "He
has plenty opportunity, if he enjoys it, to call at other seasons
of the year."
"Oh! Does he?" muttered Dick. He began to feel a most unwarrantable
dislike for Mr. Cameron.