UNDER A FEARFUL CHARGE
Cadet Corporal Dodge took his new appointment as a triumph in
revenge. Of late he had been growing even less popular. He
determined to be a martinet with the men in ranks under him. He
made the mistake that all petty, senseless tyrants do. The great
disciplinarian is never needlessly a tyrant.
* * * * * * * *
The summer in camp passed quickly after July had gone.
In all, Miss Griffin made four visits to West Point that summer.
Greg became her favored and eager escort, to the disappointment
of fifty men who would have been glad to take his place.
Both Cadet Holmes and Mr. Griffin's very pretty sister kept up
their attitudes of laughing challenge to each other throughout
the summer. It was impossible to see that either had scored a
deep impression on the other.
Not even to his chum did Greg confide whether Miss Griffin had
caught his heart. Mr. Griffin, her brother, could hardly venture
a guess to himself as to whether his sister cared for the tall
and manly looking Holmes.
But when Miss Griffin had reached the end of her last summer visit
to West Point she told Greg that she would not be there again for
some time to come.
"At least," asked Greg, "you'll be here again when the winter
hops start?"
"I cannot say," was all the reply Miss Adele Griffin would make.
"In three weeks she goes back to the seminary in Virginia," said
Griff, when Greg spoke to him about the matter. "Dell won't see
West Point before next summer. Our people are not rich enough
to keep Dell traveling all the time."
Whether Greg was crestfallen at the news no one knew. Greg had
never believed, anyway, in wearing his heart on his sleeve---"just
for other folks to stick pins in it, you know," was his explanation.
There came the day when the furloughed second class marched over
to camp. Very quickly after that all classes were back in cadet
barracks, and the charming summer of Mars had given place to the
hard fall, winter and spring of the academic grind.
The return to studies found both Greg and Dick forced to do some
extra hard work. Mathematics for this year went "miles ahead"
of anything that the former Gridley boys had encountered in High
School. Had they been able to pursue this branch of study in
the more leisurely and lenient way of the colleges, both young
men might have stood well.
As it was, after the first fortnight Greg went to the "goats,"
or the lowest section in mathematics, while Dick, not extremely
better off, hung only in the section above the goat line.
As the fall hops came on Greg went to about three out of every four.
"A fellow can bone until his brain is nothing but a mess of bone
dust," he complained. "Dick, old chum, you'd better go to hops,
too."
Dick went to only one, in October. He stagged it, whereas Greg
often dragged. But Prescott saw no girl there who looked enough
like Laura Bentley to interest him. His standing in class interested
him far more than hops at which a certain Gridley girl could not
be present.
Laura had written him that she and Belle might be at a hop early
in December.
"I'll wait and look forward to it," decided Dick. But he said
nothing, even to Greg. Holmes was showing an ability to be interested
in too many different girls, Prescott decided.
But it may be that Holmes, knowing that Griffin corresponded with
his pretty, black-eyed little sister, may have been intentionally
furnishing subjects for the news that was despatched to a Virginia
seminary.
"Come on, old ramrod," urged Greg one Saturday night, as he gave
great heed to his dressing. "You'll bone yourself dry, staying
here all the time with Smith's conic sections. Drop that dry
math. rot and stag it with me over at Cullum tonight. You can
take math. up again after chapel tomorrow."
"Thank you," replied Prescott, turning around from the study table
at which he was seated. "I don't care much for the social whirl
while there's any doubt about the January exams. It would be
no pleasure to go over to Cullum. There'll be real satisfaction
if I can look forward to better marking this coming week."
Dick spent his time until taps at the study table. But when he
closed the book it was with a sigh of satisfaction.
"If I can only go through a few more nights as easily as I have
tonight, I'll soon astound myself by maxing it" (making one of
the highest marks), he told himself. "I think I'm beginning to
see real light in conic sections, but I'll have the books out
again tomorrow afternoon."
* * * * * * * *
"Well?" challenged Holmes gayly, as he entered their room after
the hop.
"I believe I'm going to turn over a new leaf and max it some,"
grinned Prescott.
"Don't!" expostulated Greg, with a look of mock alarm.
The daily marks were not posted until the end of the academic
week, but Prescott knew, when Monday's recitation in mathematics
was over, that he had found new favor in the eyes of Captain Abbott,
the instructor. On Tuesday again he was sure that he had landed
another high mark.
Greg caught some of the fire of his chum's example, and he, too,
began to bone so furiously that he decided to drop the hops for
the time.
Wednesday again Dick marched back in mathematics section with
a consciousness that he had not fumbled once in explaining the
problem that he had been ordered to set forth the blackboard.
"I hear that you're going to graduate ahead of time, and be appointed
professor in math.," grinned Greg.
"Well, I'm at least beginning to find out that some things are
better than hops," laughed Dick happily. "Greg, if I can kill
math. to my satisfaction this year, I shan't have another doubt
about being able to get through and graduate here!"
It was the end of November by this time, and Dick, on Thursday
of this successful week, received a letter to the effect that
Laura and Belle would arrive at West Point on Saturday afternoon
at one o'clock.
The news nearly broke up Prescott's three hours of study that
Thursday evening. However, he fought off the feeling of excitement
and hampering delight.
When Dick marched with his section into mathematics Friday morning
he felt a calm confidence that he would keep up the average of
his fine performance for the week.
"Mr. Furlong, Mr. Dunstan, Mr. Prescott and Mr. Gray, go to the
blackboards," ordered Captain Abbott. "The other gentlemen will
recite from their seats."
Stepping nimbly over to the blackboard, in one corner of which
his name had been written, Dick picked up the chalk, setting down
the preliminaries of the problem assigned to him. Then his chalk
ran nimbly along over the first lines of his demonstration.
At last he stopped. Captain Abbott, who was generally accredited
with possessing several pairs of eyes, noted that Mr. Prescott
had halted.
For some moments the young man went anxiously over what he had
already written. At last he turned around, facing the instructor,
and saluted.
"Permission to erase, sir?" requested Prescott.,
Captain Abbott nodded his assent.
Picking up the eraser, Dick carefully erased the last two lines
that he had set down.
Then, as though working under a new inspiration, he went ahead
setting down line after line of the demonstration of this difficult
problem. Only once did he halt, and then for not more than thirty
seconds.
Dunstan went through a halting explanation of his problem. Then
Captain Abbott called:
"Mr. Prescott!"
Taking up the short pointer, Dick rattled off the statement of
the problem. Then he plunged into his demonstration, becoming
more and more confident as he progressed.
When he had finished Captain Abbott asked three or four questions.
Dick answered these without hesitation.
"Excellent," nodded the gratified instructor. "That is all, Mr.
Prescott."
As Dick turned to step to his seat he pulled his handkerchief
from the breast of his blouse and wiped the chalk from his hands.
All unseen by himself a narrow slip of white paper fluttered
from underneath his handkerchief to the floor.
"Mr. Prescott," called Captain Abbott, "will you bring me that
piece of paper from the floor?"
Dick obeyed without curiosity, then turned again and gained his
seat. The instructor, in the meantime, had called upon Mr. Pike.
While Pike was reciting, haltingly, Captain Abbott turned over
the slip of paper on his desk, glancing at it with "one of his
pairs of eyes."
Anyone who had been looking at the instructor at that moment would
have noted a slight start and a brief change of color in the captain's
face. But he said nothing until all of the cadets had recited
and had been marked.
"Mr. Prescott!" the instructor then called Dick rose, standing
by his seat.
"Mr. Prescott, did you work out your problem for today unaided?"
"I had a little aid, last night, sir, from Mr. Anstey."
"But you had no aid in the section room today?"
"No, sir," replied Dick, feeling much puzzled.
"You understand my question, Mr. Prescott?"
"I think so, sir."
"In putting down your demonstration on the blackboard today you had
no aid whatever?"
"None whatever, sir."
"At one stage, Air. Prescott, you hesitated, waited, then asked
permission to erase? After that erasure you went on with hardly
a break to the end of the blackboard work."
"Yes, sir."
"And, at the time you hesitated, before securing leave to erase, you
did not consult any aid in your work?"
"No, sir."
"This piece of paper," continued Captain Abbott, lifting the slip,
"fell from your handkerchief when you drew it out, just as you
left the blackboard. That was why I asked you to bring it to
me, Mr. Prescott. This paper contains all the salient features
of your demonstration. Can you explain this fact, Mr. Prescott?"
The astounded yearling felt as though his brain were reeling.
He went hot and cold, all in a flash.
In the same moment the other men of the section sat as though
stunned. All lying, deceit and fraud are so utterly detested
at West Point that to a cadet it is incomprehensible how a comrade
can be guilty of such an offence.
It seemed to Prescott like an age ere he could master his voice.
"I never saw that paper, sir, before you asked me to pick it up!"
"But it dropped from under your handkerchief, Mr. Prescott. Can
you account for that?"
"I cannot, sir."
Captain Abbott looked thoughtfully, seriously, at Cadet Richard
Prescott. The instructor had always liked this young man, and
had deemed him worthy of all trust. Yet what did this evidence
show?
In the meantime the cadets sat staring the tops of their desks,
or the covers of their books. The gaze of each man was stony;
so were his feelings.
Prescott, the soul of honor, caught in such a scrape as this!
But there must be some sensible and satisfactory explanation,
thought at least half of the cadets present.
"Have I permission to ask a question, sir?" asked Dick in an almost
hollow voice.
"Proceed, Mr. Prescott."
"Is the paper in my handwriting, sir?"
"It is not," declared the instructor. "Most of it is in typewriting,
with two figures drawn crudely in ink. There are three or four
typewriting machines on the post to which a cadet may find easy
access. You may examine this piece of paper, Mr. Prescott, if
you think that will aid you to throw any light on the matter."
Dick stepped forward, lurching slightly. Most of the silent men
of the section took advantage of this slight distraction to shift
their feet to new positions. The noise grated in that awful silence.
How Dick's hand shook as he reached for the paper. At first his
eyes were too blurred for him to make out clearly what was on
the paper. But at last he made it all out.
"I am very sorry, sir. This paper tells me nothing."
Captain Abbott's gaze was fixed keenly on the young man's face.
White-faced Prescott, shaking and ghastly looking, showed all
the evidences of detected, overwhelmed guilt.
Innocent men often do the same.
"You may return the paper and take your seat, Mr. Prescott."
As Prescott turned away he made a powerful effort to hold his
head erect, and to look fearlessly before him.
It was a full minute, yet, before the bugle would sound through
the Academic Building to end the recitation period. Dick was
not the only one in this section room who found the wait intolerable.
But at last the bugle notes were heard.
"The section is dismissed," announced Captain Abbott. Dunstan,
the section marcher, formed his men and led them thence. No man
in the section held his head more erect than did Prescott, who
was conscious of his own absolute innocence in the affair.
Yet, when he reached his room, and sank down at his study table,
a groan escaped Dick Prescott.
His head fell forward, cushioned in his folded arms.
Thus Holmes found him on entering the room.
"Why, old ramrod, what on earth is the matter?" gasped Greg.
A groan from his chum was the only answer.
At that moment another step, brisk and official, was heard in the
corridor. There was a short rap on the door, after which Unwine,
cadet officer of the day, wearing his red sash and sword, stepped
into the room.
"Mr. Prescott, you are ordered in close arrest in your quarters
until further orders."
"Yes, sir," huskily replied Prescott, who had struggled to his
feet and now stood at attention.
As Unwine wheeled, marching from the room, Dick sank again over his
study table.
"Dick, old ramrod," pleaded Greg terrified, "what on earth-----"
"Greg," came the anguished moan, "they're going to try to fire me
from West Point for a common cheat---and I'm afraid they'll do it,
too!"