A MIDNIGHT INSPECTION.
There was a sense of constraint among the occupants of Colonel Stanley's
carriage as they were driven back to the Point. They had been calling on
old friends of his among the pretty villas below the Falls; had been
chatting joyously until that sudden swerve that pitched the colonel's
hat and Miriam's fan into the dust, and the veteran cavalryman could not
account for the lull that followed. Miriam had instantly grasped the
situation. All her father's stories of cadet days had enabled her to
understand at once that here was a cadet--a classmate of
Philip's--"running it" in disguise. Mr. Lee, of course, needed no
information on the subject. What she hoped was, that he had not seen;
but the cloud on his frank, handsome face still hovered there, and she
knew him too well not to see that he understood everything. And now what
was his duty? Something told her that an inspection of barracks would be
made immediately upon his return to the Point, and in that way the name
of the absentee be discovered. She knew the regulation every cadet was
expected to obey and every officer on honor to enforce. She knew that
every cadet found absent from his quarters after taps was called upon by
the commandant for prompt account of his whereabouts, and if unable to
say that he was on cadet limits during the period of his absence,
dismissal stared him in the face.
The colonel did most of the talking on the way back to the south gate.
Once within the portals he called to the driver to stop at the Mess.
"I'm thirsty," said the jovial warrior, "and I want a julep and a fresh
cigar. You, too, might have a claret punch, Mimi; you are drooping a
little to-night. What is it, daughter,--tired?"
"Yes, tired and a little headachy." Then sudden thought occurs to her.
"If you don't mind I think I will go right on to the hotel. Then you and
Mr. Lee can enjoy your cigars at leisure." She knows well that Romney
Lee is just the last man to let her drive on unescorted. She can hold
him ten or fifteen minutes, at least, and by that time if the reckless
boy down the road has taken warning and scurried back he can reach the
barracks before inspection is made.
"Indeed, Miss Miriam, I'm not to be disposed of so summarily," he
promptly answers. "I'll see you safely to the hotel. You'll excuse me,
colonel?"
"Certainly, certainly, Lee. I suppose I'll see you later," responds the
veteran. They leave him at the Mess and resume their way, and Lee takes
the vacated seat by her side. There is something he longs to say to
her,--something that has been quivering on his lips and throbbing at his
heart for many a long day. She is a queenly woman,--this dark-eyed,
stately army girl. It is only two years since, her school-days finished,
she has returned to her father's roof on the far frontier and resumed
the gay garrison life that so charmed her when a child. _Then_ a loving
mother had been her guide, but during her long sojourn at school the
blow had fallen that so wrenched her father's heart and left her
motherless. Since her graduation she alone has been the joy of the old
soldier's home, and sunshine and beauty have again gladdened his life.
She would be less than woman did she not know that here now was another
soldier, brave, courteous, and gentle, who longed to win her from that
home to his own,--to call her by the sacred name of wife. She knew how
her father trusted and Phil looked up to him. She knew that down in her
own heart of hearts there was pleading for him even now, but as yet no
word has been spoken. She is not the girl to signal, "speak, and the
prize is yours." He has looked in vain for a symptom that bids him hope
for more than loyal friendship.
But to-night as they reach the brightly-lighted piazza at Craney's it is
she who bids him stay.
"Don't go just yet," she falters.
"I feared you were tired and wished to go to your room," he answers,
gently.
"Would you mind asking if there are letters for me?" she says. It is
anything to gain time, and he goes at her behest, but--oh, luckless
fate!--'tis a false move.
She sees him stride away through the groups on the piazza; sees the
commandant meet him with one of his assistants; sees that there is
earnest consultation in low tone, and that then the others hasten down
the steps and disappear in the darkness. She hears him say, "I'll follow
in a moment, sir," and something tells her that what she dreads has come
to pass. Presently he returns to her with the information that there are
no letters; then raises his cap, and, in the old Southern and cadet
fashion, extends his hand.
"You are not going, Mr. Lee?" again she falters.
"I have to, Miss Stanley."
Slowly she puts forth her hand and lays it in his.
"I--I wish you did not have to go. _Tell_ me," she says, impulsively,
imploringly, "are you going to inspect?"
He bows his head.
"It is already ordered, Miss Miriam," he says; "I must go at once.
Good-night."
Dazed and distressed she turns at once, and is confronted by a pallid
little maid with wild, blue eyes.
"Oh, Miss Stanley!" is the wail that greets her. "I could not help
hearing, and--if it should be Willy!"
"Come with me, Nannie," she whispers, as her arm enfolds her. "Come to
my room."
Meantime, there has been a breeze at the barracks. A batch of yearlings,
by way of celebrating their release from plebedom, have hit on a
time-honored scheme. Just about the same moment that disclosed to the
eyes of Lieutenant Lee the class ring gleaming on the finger of that
nattily-dressed young civilian, his comrade, the dozing officer in
charge, was started to his feet by a thunder-clap, a vivid flash that
lighted up the whole area of barracks, and an explosion that rattled the
plaster in the guard-house chimneys. One thing the commandant wouldn't
stand was disorder after "taps," and, in accordance with strict
instructions, Lieutenant Lawrence sent a drummer-boy at once to find the
colonel and tell him what had taken place, while he himself stirred up
the cadet officer of the day and began an investigation. Half the corps
by this time were up and chuckling with glee at their darkened windows;
and as these subdued but still audible demonstrations of sympathy and
satisfaction did not cease on his arrival, the colonel promptly sent for
his entire force of assistants to conduct the inspection already
ordered. Already one or two "bull's-eyes" were flitting out from the
officers' angle.
But the piece of boyish mischief that brings such keen delight to the
youngsters in the battalion strikes terror to the heart of Philip
Stanley. He knows all too well that an immediate inspection will be the
result, and then, what is to become of McKay? With keen anxiety, he
goes to the hall window overlooking the area, and watches the course of
events. A peep into McKay's room shows that he is still absent and that
his room-mate, if disturbed at all by the "yearling fireworks," has gone
to sleep again. Stanley sees the commandant stride under the gas-lamp in
the area; sees the gathering of the "bull's-eyes," and his heart
well-nigh fails him. Still he watches until there can be no doubt that
the inspection is already begun. Then, half credulous, all delighted, he
notes that it is not Mr. Lee, but young Mr. Lawrence, the officer in
charge, who is coming straight towards "B" Company, lantern in hand. Not
waiting for the coming of the former, the colonel has directed another
officer--not a company commander--to inspect for him.
There is but one way to save Billy now.
In less than half a minute Stanley has darted into McKay's room; has
slung his chevroned coat under the bed; has slipped beneath the sheet
and coverlet, and now, breathlessly, he listens. He hears the inspector
moving from room to room on the ground floor; hears him spring up the
iron stair; hears him enter his own,--the tower room at the north end of
the hall,--and there he stops, surprised, evidently, to find Cadet
Captain Stanley absent from his quarters. Then his steps are heard
again. He enters the opposite room at the north end. That is all right!
and now he's coming here. "Now for it!" says Stanley to himself, as he
throws his white-sleeved arm over his head just as he has so often seen
Billy do, and turning his face to the wall, burrows deep in the pillow
and pulls the sheet well up to his chin. The door softly opens; the
"bull's-eye" flashes its gleam first on one bed, then on the other. "All
right here," is the inspector's mental verdict as he pops out again
suddenly as he entered. Billy McKay, the scapegrace, is safe and Stanley
has time to think over the situation.
At the very worst, as he will be able to say he was "visiting in
barracks" when found absent, his own punishment will not be serious. But
this is not what troubles him. Demerit for the graduating class ceases
to count after the 1st of June, and the individual sense of honor and
duty is about the only restraint against lapses of discipline. Stanley
hates to think that others may now believe him deaf to this obligation.
He would far rather have had this happen when demerit and "confinements"
in due proportion had been his award, but there is no use repining. It
is a sacrifice to save--her brother.
When half an hour later his classmate, the officer of the day, enters
the tower room in search of him, Stanley is there and calmly says, "I
was visiting in barracks," in answer to his question; and finally, when
morning comes, Mr. Billy McKay nearly sleeps through reveille as a
consequence of his night-prowling; but his absence, despite the
simultaneous inspection of every company in barracks, has not been
detected. With one exception every bed has had its apparently soundly
sleeping occupant. The young scamps who caused all the trouble have
escaped scot-free, and the corps can hardly believe their own ears, and
Billy McKay is stunned and perplexed when it is noised abroad that the
only man "hived absent" was the captain of Company "B."
It so happens that both times he goes to find Stanley that day he misses
him. "The commandant sent for him an hour ago," says Mr. McFarland, his
room-mate, "and I'm blessed if I know what keeps him. Something about
last night's doings, I'm afraid."
This, in itself, is enough to make him worry, but the next thing he
hears is worse. Just at evening call to quarters, Jim Burton comes to
his room.
"Have you heard anything about this report of Stanley's last night?" he
asks, and McKay, ordinarily so frank, is guarded now in his reply. For
half an hour he has been pacing his room alone. McFarland's revelations
have set him to thinking. It is evident that the colonel's suspicions
are aroused. It is probable that it is known that some cadet was
"running it" the night before. From the simple fact that he is not
already in arrest he knows that Mr. Lee did not recognize him, yet the
secret has leaked out in some way, and an effort is being made to
discover the culprit. Already he has begun to wonder if the game was
really worth the candle. He saw her, 'tis true, and had half an hour's
whispered chat with her, interrupted not infrequently by giggling and
impetuous rushes from the other girls. They had sworn melodramatically
never to reveal that it was he who came, but Billy begins to have his
doubts. "It ends my career if I'm found out," he reflects, "whereas they
can't do much to Stan for visiting." And thus communing with himself, he
has decided to guard his secret against all comers,--at least for the
present. And so he is non-committal in his reply to Burton.
"What about it?" he asks.
"Why, it's simply this, Billy: Little Magee, the fifer, is on orderly
duty to-day, and he heard much of the talk, and I got it out of him.
Somebody was running it last night, and was seen down by Cozzens's gate.
Stanley was the only absentee, hence Stanley would naturally be the man
suspected, but he says he wasn't out of the barracks. The conclusion is
inevitable that he was filling the other fellow's place, and the colonel
is hopping mad. It looks as though there were collusion between them.
Now, Billy, all I've got to say is that the man he's shielding ought to
step forward and relieve him at once. There comes the sentry and I must
go."
Relieve him? Yes; but what means that for me? thinks poor McKay.
Dismissal; a heart break for mother. No! It is too much to face; he must
think it over. He never goes near Stanley all that night. He fears to
meet him, or the morrow. His heart misgives him when he is told that
there has been a long conference in the office. He turns white with
apprehension when they fall in for parade, and he notes that it is
Phillips, their first lieutenant, who draws sword and takes command of
the company; but a few moments later his heart gives one wild bound,
then seems to sink into the ground beneath his feet, when the adjutant
drops the point of his sword, lets it dangle by the gold knot at his
wrist, whips a folded paper from his sash, and far over the plain his
clear young voice proclaims the stern order:
"Cadet Captain Stanley is hereby placed in arrest and confined to his
quarters. Charge--conniving at concealing the absence of a cadet from
inspection after 'taps,' eleven--eleven-fifteen P.M., on the 7th
instant.
"By order of Lieutenant-Colonel Putnam."