THE MAN MOVING IN A DARK ROOM
May came, and, with the gorgeous blossoms of that month, Dick
Prescott left the hospital.
He was able to walk fairly well, and was returned to study and
recitations, though excused from all drills or any form of military
duty.
Not quite all the old erectness of carriage was there, though
Dick hoped and prayed daily that it would return.
He had been cautioned to take the best of care of himself. He
had been warned that he was still on probation, so far as his
physical condition was concerned.
"A sudden bad wrench, and you might undo all that has been done
for you so far," was the surgeons' hint.
So Prescott, though permitted to march with his sections to
recitations, and to fall in at the meal formations, was far from
feeling reassured as to his ability to remain in the service.
He was to have a physical examination after the academic year
was finished, and other examinations, if needed, during the summer
encampment.
And well enough the young man knew this meant that, if he was
found to be permanently disqualified in body, he would be dropped
from the cadet corps as soon as the decision was reached.
"Do you know," muttered Greg vengefully, "Haynes had the cheek
to come here and ask after you?"
"Did he?" inquired Dick.
"Yes; he pretended to be sorry about your accident."
"Perhaps he really was," returned Prescott.
"What? After his trick in pushing you from the train?"
"I hope he has lived to regret that," said Dick quietly.
"You're not quite a lunatic, old ramrod, are you?" asked Greg
wonderingly.
"Oh, I've heard of fellows being bad, and then afterward repenting,"
murmured Dick. "Perhaps this has been the case with Haynes.
You see, Greg, lying there in hospital, day after day, I had time
to do a lot of thinking. Perhaps I learned to be just a trifle less
severe in judging other fellows."
Anstey visited as often as he could. He and Greg did all they
could to coach Prescott over the hard work that he had missed.
"There isn't going to be anything in the academic work to bother
you," promised Anstey. "You'll have lots of chance to pull through
in the general review."
"It's only the physical side of the case that gives me any uneasiness,"
replied Dick. "And I'm not worrying about that, either."
"I should say not, suh!" replied the Virginian with emphasis.
"I had a chance to talk with Captain Goodwin, one day, without
being too fresh, and he told me, old ramrod, that your work in
athletics did a lot to save your back from faring worse. He said
you were built with unusual strength in the back, and that many
a hard tug in the football scrimmages had made you strong where
you most need to be strong now."
"Now let's get back to work with our old ramrod, Anstey," cautioned
Greg.
"Surely, suh, with all my heart," nodded Anstey. "But by day
after to-morrow he'll have caught up with us, and be coaching
us along for the general review."
The hard work that Dick had done through March and in early April
now stood him in excellent stead. He had, really, only to make
sure of the work that he had missed while at hospital. As to
reviewing the earlier work of the second term, there was not the
slightest need.
By the time that the general review was half through it was plain
enough that Dick Prescott's class standing was going to be better
than it had ever been before. In fact, he was slated to make
the middle of this class.
"I'll be above the middle of the class next year, if the fates
allow me to remain on with the corps," Dick promised himself and
his friends.
"Oh, you'll be in the Army, suh, until you're retired for age,
suh," predicted Anstey with great gravity.
The latter part of May passed swiftly for the busy cadets. The
first class men were dreaming of their commissions in the more
real Army beyond West Point; the present third classmen were looking
forward with intense longing to the furlough that would begin
as soon as they had stepped over the line into the second class.
The new plebes were looking forward to summer encampment with
a mixture of longing and dread---the latter emotion on account of
the hazing that might come to them in the life under the khaki-colored
canvas.
As the days slipped by, Prescott began to have more and more of
his old, firm step. He began to feel sure, too, that the surgeons
would have no more fault to find with his condition.
"Why, I could ride a horse in fine shape to-day," declared Prescott,
on one of the last days in May.
"Could you?" demanded Cadet Holmes quizzically.
"Perhaps I had better amend that bit of brag," laughed Dick. "What
I meant was that I could ride as well, to-day, as I ever did."
"Don't be in a hurry to try it, old ramrod," advised Greg with
a frown. "Be satisfied that you're doing well enough as it is.
Don't be in a hurry to joggle up a spine that has had about as
much as it could stand."
"I'll bet you I ride in the exhibition riding before the Board
of Visitors," proposed Prescott earnestly.
"I shall be mightily disappointed in your judgment if you attempt
it without first having received a positive order," retorted Greg.
"Don't be a chump, old ramrod."
The exhibition before the Board of Visitors to which Dick had
referred is one of the annual features of West Point life. The
Board is appointed by the President of the United States. The
Board goes to West Point a few days before graduation and thoroughly
"inspects" the Academy and all its workings. The Board of Visitors
impressively attends graduation exercises. Afterwards the Board
writes its report on the Military Academy, and suggests anything
that occurs to the members as being an improvement on the way
things are being already conducted by Army officers who know their
business.
One man in the second class was going badly to pieces in these
closing days of the academic year. That man was turnback Haynes.
His trouble was that he had allowed a private and senseless grudge
to get uppermost in his mind. He lived more for the gratification
of that grudge than he did for the realization of his own ambitions.
"This confounded Prescott has escaped me, so far, though his last
experience was a narrow squeak. I've had two tries---and, by
the great blazes! the third time is said never to fail. He's
in such bad shape now that it won't take much of a push to put
him over the edge of physical condition. But how can I do it?"
So much thought did the turnback give to this problem that he
fell further and further behind in general review. He was moving
rapidly toward the bottom of the class.
Worse, he began to dream of his grudge by night. In his dreams
Haynes always reviewed his hopes of successful villainy, or else
found himself trying to put through some new bit of profound rascality.
Always the turnback awoke from such dreams to find himself in a
cold sweat.
"I'll hit the right scheme---the real chance---yet!" the plotter
told himself, as he tossed restlessly at night, while his roommate,
Cadet Pierson, slept soundly the sleep of the just and decent.
"Haynesy, what's the matter with you?" demanded Pierson one morning,
as he watched his roommate going toward the washstand.
"What do you mean?" demanded Haynes, with the pallor of guilt
on his face for a moment.
"Why, you always look so confoundedly ragged when you get up mornings.
You used to wake up looking fresh and rosy. Now, you look like the
ghost of an evil deed."
"Huh!" growled Haynes, plunging his hands into the water. "I'm
all right."
"I wish I could believe you!" muttered the puzzled Pierson under
his breath.
"It's near time to get Prescott, if I'm going to," Haynes told
himself a dozen times a day.
In fact, the matter preyed so constantly on his mind that the
turnback walked through each day in a perpetual though subdued state
of nervous fever.
The next night Pierson awoke with a start. At first the cadet
couldn't understand why he should feel so creepy. He was a good
sleeper, and there had been no noise.
Hadn't there, though? It came again. And now Cadet Pierson rubbed
his eyes and half rose on his cot, leaning his head on one hand.
Now, with intense interest, he watched the proceedings of his
roommate, turnback Haynes, who was up and moving stealthily about
the room, every action being clearly revealed in the bright moonlight
that was streaming through the windows.