THE CURE FOR PLEBE ANIMAL SPIRITS
So the weeks slipped by.
Up at five in the morning, busy most of the time until six in
the evening, the cadets of the first, third and fourth classes
found ample time to enjoy themselves between dark and taps, at
10.30, except when guard duty or something else interfered.
Much of the "idle" time through the day was spent in short naps,
to make up for that short six hours and a half of regular night
sleep.
Yet all the young men seemed to thrive in their life of hard work
and outdoor air.
Hazing was proceeding merrily, so far as some of the yearlings
were concerned. Perhaps half of the class in all engaged in two
or more real hazings through the summer. A few of the third classmen
became almost inveterate hazers.
But Dick Prescott, true to the principles had stated at the beginning
of the encampment, hazed a plebe only when he believed it to be
actually necessary in order to keep properly down some bumptious
new man.
Dodge returned from hospital after a very short stay there. Word
had spread through the camp. Though Dodge, who admitted frankly
that his thrashing had been deserved, managed to keep a few friends,
but was avoided by most of the yearlings. Since he had taken his
medicine so frankly, he was not, however, "cut."
One afternoon, when Dick had been dozing on his mattress for about
ten minutes, during a period of freedom from drill, the tent flap
rustled, and Yearling Furlong looked in.
"What is it?" called Dick.
"Sorry if I've roused you, old ramrod," murmured the caller.
"That's all right, Milesy. Come in and rest yourself. You won't
mind if I keep flat, will you?
"Not in training for sick report?" asked Furlong, glancing down
solicitously. But he saw the glow of robust health glowing through
the deep coat of tan on Prescott's face.
"My appetite doesn't resemble sick report," laughed Dick. "But,
while you don't really look ill, Milesy, it's very plain that
you have something serious on your mind. Out with it!
"I guess that will make me feel better," assented Furlong, with
a sigh. "It's all that little plebe beast, Mr. Briggs."
"Surely he hasn't been hazing you?" inquired Prescott, opening
his eyes very wide.
"No, no; not just that, old ramrod," replied Furlong. "But Mr.
Briggs is proving a huge disappointment to me. I've done my best
to make a meek and lowly cub of him, but he won't consent to fill
his place. Now, that little beast made a good enough get away
with his studies during the three months before camp. He mastered
all the work of the soldier in ranks. At bottoms Mr. Briggs is
really a very good little boy soldier. But he's so abominably
and incurably fresh that he should have gone to Annapolis, where
there's always some salt in the breeze.
"What has Mr. Briggs been doing now?" asked Dick with interest.
"What doesn't Mr. Briggs do?" sighed Furlong mournfully. "Instead
of sleeping nights, that beast must lie awake, devising more ways
of being unutterably fresh. But now he's contaminating his bunkie,
Mr. Ellis."
"Evil company always did work havoc with good manners," nodded Dick.
"So Mr. Ellis has gone bad, has he?"
"Do you know," continued Furlong severely, "that three mornings
ago, when Jessup, of our class, was dressing at forty horsepower
so he wouldn't miss reveille formation, that he stepped into two
shoes full of soft soap, and had to go out sloshing into line
in that shape, just because he couldn't spare the time to take
his shoes off and empty them?
"Yes," nodded Prescott. "We suspected Haverford, of the first
class, of that, because Jessup, on guard, challenged Haverford
when Haverford was trying to run the guard after taps."
"Haverford nothing," retorted Furlong. "He's above such jobs.
No, sir! This afternoon Jessup ran plumb into Mr. Ellis when
that little beast bunkie of the other beast, Mr. Briggs, was just
in the act of dropping soft soap into the shoes that Aldrich will
wear to dress parade today.
"Where on earth did Mr. Ellis get hold of soft soap?" demanded
Prescott, raising himself on one elbow.
"You're entirely missing the problem, old ramrod!" grunted Furlong
wrathfully. "The question is, how can we possibly soak such habits
out of Mr. Ellis and Mr. Briggs?"
"Perhaps it can't be done," suggested Dick.
"It must be done!" uttered Furlong savagely.
"Well, I can't think of any yearling better suited to the task that
you are, Milesy!"
"One man? or one tentful, isn't equal to any such gigantic piece
of work!" retorted Furlong. "Ramrod, you've got to appoint a class
committee to take these two baboons in hand. It ought to be done
this very night, too. Now, sit up, won't you, and get your
thinking cap on?"
"Have you talked with any of the other men?"
"Yes; and they all agree that a soiree must be given to Mr. Ellis,
and that you should be present."
"What is the call for me, Milesy?
"You are the class president."
"But this is no affair that involves the honor of the class.
Therefore, as president, I cannot see that there is any call for me."
"It is the feeling with all the members of the yearling class that
you should be present."
Prescott looked at his visitor intently for a moment.
Dick understood, now. He had taken "too little" interest in the
hazing of b.j. plebes, and the class did not want to see its president
shirk any duties that might be considered his, either as yearling
or as class president.
"Very good, Milesy," replied Dick quietly. "You may inform all
anxious inquirers that I'll be on hand. Where and at what hour?"
"Eight o'clock, in Dunstan's tent."
"Very good."
Furlong arose with a satisfied look on his face. He had, in fact,
been deputed by others to make sure that Prescott would be on
hand. There is always a good deal of risk attendant on hazing.
It may lead to discovery---and dismissal.
"I wonder if some of the fellows think I keep away from hazing
simply because I'm afraid of risking my neck?" yawned Dick. "They
practically insist on my sitting in to-night, do they? Oh, well!"
The hop took more men away from camp than usual that night. Other
cadets met friends from the hotel or officers' quarters at post
number one.
But over in Dunstan's tent a considerable group of yearlings gathered.
A few, in fact, were obliged to stand outside. This they did
in such a way as not to attract the attention of the O.C. or any
chance tac.
Dick was there, and with him were Holmes and Anstey, to both of
whom had been conveyed a hint as strong as that which had reached
the class president. Furlong, Griffin and Dobbs were in the tent.
Jessup and Aldrich were there as a matter of fact.
On the still night air came the clanging of eight on the big clock
down in the group of barracks and Academic Building. Just as
the strokes were pealing forth Plebes Briggs and Ellis came up
the street and stood at the front pole of Dunstan's tent.
"Come in, beasties," summoned Furlong. "We are awaiting you."
Neither plebe looked over joyous as the pair entered.
"Stand there, misters," ordered Dick, pointing to the space that
had been reserved for the victims of the affair. "Now, misters,
there is some complaint that you have mistaken West Point for a
theatrical training school. The suspicion is gaining ground that
you two beasties imagine you have been appointed here as comedians.
Is that your delusion?"
"No, sir," replied Mr. Briggs and Mr. Ellis in one solemn breath.
"Then what ails you, misters?" demanded Dick severely.
Both plebes remained silent.
"Answer me, sirs. You first, Mr. Briggs."
"I think we must have been carried away by excess of animal spirits,
sir," replied Mr. Briggs, now speaking meekly enough.
"Animal spirits?" repeated Dick thoughtfully. "There may be much
truth and reason in that idea. Camp life here is repressive of
animal spirits, to be sure. We who are your mentors to some extent
should have thought of that. Mr. Briggs, you shall find relief for
your animal spirits. Mr. Ellis, what is your defence?"
"I thought, sir---thought-----"
With the yearling President's eyes fixed on him in stern, searching
gaze, the once merry little Mr. Ellis became confused. He broke
off stameringly.
"That's enough, Mr. Ellis," replied the class president. "You
admit that you thought. Now, no plebe is capable of thinking.
Your answer, mister, proves you to be guilty of egotism."
Then Dick, with the air of a judge, yet with a mocking pretence
of gentleness and leniency sounding; in his voice, turned back
to Plebe Briggs.
"Mr. Briggs, you will now proceed to relieve your animal spirits
by some spirited animal conduct. The animal that you will represent
will be the crab. Down on your face, mister!"
Flat on the floor lay Mr. Briggs. The yearlings outside, at the
tent doorway, scenting something coming, peered in eagerly.
"Now, spread out your arms and legs, mister, just as any good
crab should do. Raise your body from the floor. Not too much;
about six inches will do. Now, mister, move about as nearly as
possible in the manner of a crab. Stop, mister! Don't you know
that a crab moves either backwards or sideways? It will not give
enough vent to your animal spirits unless you move exactly as
your model, the crab, does. Try it again, mister, and be painstaking
in your imitation."
Mr. Briggs presented a most grotesque appearance as he crawled
about over the floor in the very limited space allowed him by
the presence of so many others. The yearlings enjoyed it all
in mirthful silence.
"As for you, mister," continued Dick, turning upon the uncomfortable
Mr. Ellis, "your self-conceit so fills every part of your body
that the only thing for you is to stand on your head. Go to the
rear tentpole and stand on your head. You may brace your feet
against the pole. But remain on your head until we make sure
that all the conceit has run out of you!"
Mr. Briggs was still "crabbing it" over the floor. Every minute
the task became more irksome.
"Up with you, mister," Prescott admonished. "No self-respecting
crab, with an abundance of animal spirits, ever trails along the
ground like that."
After some two minutes of standing on his head Mr. Ellis fell over
sideways, his feet thudding.
"Up with you, sir," admonished Dick. "You are still so full of
egotism that it sways you like the walking beam of a steamboat.
Up with you, mister, and up you stay until there is no ballast
of conceit left in you."
Crab-crab-crab! Mr. Briggs continued to move sidewise and backward
over the tent flooring.
Mr. Ellis was growing frightfully red in the face. But Prescott,
from the remembrance of his own plebe days, knew to a dot how
long a healthy plebe could keep that inverted position without
serious injury. So the class president, sitting as judge in the
court of hazing, showed no mercy.
Some of the yearlings who stood outside peering in should have
kept a weather eye open for the approach of trouble from tac.
quarters. But, as the ordeals of both of the once frisky plebes
became more severe, the interest of those outside increased.
Crab-crab-crab! continued Mr. Briggs. It seemed to him as though
his belt-line weighed fully a ton, so hard was it to keep his
abdomen off the floor, resting solely on his hands and feet.
Mr. Ellis must have felt that conceit and he could never again
be friends, judging by the redness of his face and the straining
of his muscles.
An approaching step outside should have been heard by some of
the yearlings looking in through the doorway, but it wasn't.
Then, all in an instant, the step quickened, and Lieutenant
Topham, O.C. for the day, made for the tent door!