"A LIAR AND A COWARD"
Long, indeed, did the memory of that hop linger with Cadet Dick
Prescott.
It had come as the fitting, cheering ending of his great trouble---the
hardest trouble that had assailed him, or could assail him, at
the United States Military Academy.
"Well, you've been vindicated, anyway," muttered Greg cheerily,
one day. "So you needn't look as thoughtful as you do half of
the time these present days."
"Have I been vindicated, Greg?" asked Dick gravely.
"What did the court say? And you're still wearing the uniform
that Uncle Sam gave you, aren't you?
"Vindication, Greg, means something more that a court-martial
verdict of acquittal."
"What more do you want?"
"Greg, the verdicts of all the courts-martial sitting between
here and Manila wouldn't make some of the men of this corps believe
that I innocent."
"G'wan!" retorted Cadet Holmes impatiently.
"I see it, Greg, old chum, if you don't."
"You're morbid, old ramrod!"
"Greg, you know the cheery greeting, in passing, that one man
here often gives another when he likes and trusts that man. Well,
some of own classmates that used to give me the glad hail seem
to be thinking about something else, now, when they pass me."
"Who are they?" demanded Greg, his fists doubling.
"You'd provoke a fight, if I told you," retorted Dick. "This
isn't a matter to fight about."
"Then you don't know much about fighting subjects," grumbled Cadet
Holmes, as he leaned back and opened his book of everlasting
mathematics.
"Let me see, Greg; have you any show to get out of the goats in
math.?"
"I'm in hopes to get out and step into the next section above,"
replied Greg. "I've been working hard enough."
"Then you'd better waste no thoughts on pugilism. Calculus will
bring you more happiness."
"Calculus was never designed to bring anyone happiness," retorted
Greg sulkily. "It's a torment invented on purpose to harrow the
souls of cadets. What good, any way, will calculus ever be to
an officer who has a platoon of men to lead in a charge on the
enemy?"
This could not very well be answered, so Dick dodged the subject.
"Remember the January exams., old fellow," warned Dick. "And
the general review begins Monday. That will show you up, if you
don't keep your nose in math. and out of books on the Queensbury
rules."
"Funny how Bert Dodge keeps up in mathematics, and yet takes in
all the pleasures he can find," rumbled on Greg, as he turned
the pages of his book, seeking what he wanted. "Dodge is in the
section just under the stars, and I hear he has dreams of being
in the star section after the January ordeals."
"Dodge always was a rather good student at Gridley High School"
rejoined Prescott.
"But he never led our class there in the High School mathematics,
which is baby's play compared with West Point math."
"Well, he gets the marks now," sighed Dick. "I wish we could, too."
The academic part of the cadet's year is divided into two halves.
The first half winds up in January. During the last few weeks
before the period for the winter examination, there is a general
review in some of the subjects, notably in mathematics. This
general review brings out all of a man's weak points in his subject.
Incidentally, it should strengthen him in his weak points.
Now, if, in the general review, a cadet shows sufficient proficiency
in his subject, he is not required to take the examination. If
he fails in the general review in mathematics, he must go up for
a "writ," as a written examination is termed. And that writ is
cruelly searching. If the young man fails in the "writ," he may
be conditioned and required to make up his deficiencies in June.
If, in June, he fails to make up all deficiencies, he is dropped
from the cadet corps as being below the mental standards required
of a West Point graduate.
Neither Dick nor Greg stood high enough in mathematics to care
to go on past January conditioned. Both felt that, with conditions
extending over to the summer, they must fail in June.
"I'd sooner have my funeral held tomorrow than drop out of West
Point," Greg stated.
Prescott, while not making that assertion, knew that it would blast
his dearest hopes life if he had to go down in the academic battle.
Dodge, who was so high in mathematics that he need have little
fear, was circulating a good deal among his classmates these days
before Christmas.
"That hound, Prescott, made a slick dodge to drag me into his
disgrace," Dodge declared, to those whom he thought would be interest
in such remarks. "It was a clever trick! couldn't put me in disgrace,
for there is no breach of regulations in borrowing a handkerchief
for a moment. But Prescott made so much of that handkerchief
business that it served his purpose and dragged him out safely
before the court."
"Do you think Prescott was really guilty of a crib?" asked one
of Dodge's hearers.
"I can't prove it, but I know what I think," retorted Dodge.
"His effort to draw me into the row shows what kind of a fellow he
is at bottom."
"I'd hate to think that Prescott would really be mean enough for
a crib."
"Think what you like, then, of course. But a fellow guilty of
one meanness might not stop at others."
Dodge talked much in this vein. Cadets are not tale-bearers,
and so little or none of this talk reached Dick's ears until Furlong
came along, one day, in time to hear Dodge holding forth on his
favorite subject.
Yearling Furlong halted, eyeing Cadet Dodge sternly, keenly.
"Well," demanded Dodge, "what's wrong?"
"I don't know exactly," replied Furlong, with a quizzical smile.
"I think, though, that the basic error lay in your ever having
been born at all."
Dodge tried to laugh it off as a pleasantry. He had met Furlong
once, in a fight, and had no desire to be sent to cadet hospital
again with blackened eyes.
"I don't want to mind other people's business, Dodge," continued
Furlong coolly, "but you're going a bit too far, it seems to me,
in what you say about Prescott. Why should you seek to blacken
the character of one of our best fellows, and the president of
our class?"
"Because he tried to blacken mine," retorted Dodge boldly.
"He didn't. All he did, at the court-martial, was to explain
the adventures of his handkerchief just before that piece of paper
fell to the floor of the section room."
"Wasn't that an insinuation against me?" demanded Cadet Dodge.
"Not unless your character here is on such a very poor foundation
that it can't stand any suspicions," replied Furlong coldly.
"Now, see here, Dodge, the general review is on, and Prescott
can't spare any time on private rows. After the general review
is over, if I hear any more about your roasting Prescott, I'm
going to call on you to go with me to Prescott's presence, and
repeat your statements to his face. I don't want to stir up any
needless personal trouble, Dodge, but I declare myself now as
one of old ramrod's friends. Any slander against him must be
backed up. I trust you will pardon my having been so explicit."
Furlong turned on his heel, striding away. The cadets to whom
Dodge had been talking bitterly looked at Bert curiously. A good
many men in the corps would have promptly resented such remarks
as Furlong's, and to the limit, by calling him out.
"Queer how many friends, of some kinds, a fellow like Prescott
can have," laughed Dodge sneeringly.
"Not at all," spoke up one of Dodge's listeners. "Everyone always
knows where Prescott stands, and he'll back up anything he says.
Furlong is another man of the same stamp."
With that the last speaker turned on his heel and walked away.
For some days after that, Bert Dodge was more careful of his utterances.
The general reviews came and passed. By sheer hard, undistracted
work, both Dick and Greg succeeded in pulling through without
having to go up for writs. For some reason Dodge did not do quite
as well in the general review, and was forced to drop down a couple
of sections. He still stood well, however, in math.
In the next week after the dangerous examination period Dick Prescott
began to forge upwards in mathematics. He was now in the section
fourth removed from the goats, and Greg was up in the section
next above the goats.
On the afternoon of the Friday when the markings had been posted
Dodge met Dennison, also of the yearling class.
"Say, what do you think, Dodge, of Prescott beginning to shoot
up through the sections toward you? He'll soon be marching at
your side when math. is called."
"He'll bear watching," nodded Dodge sagely.
"That's what I feel about it," replied Dennison.
"Prescott isn't the kind of man who can climb high in mathematics,
and do it honestly," continued Dodge. "Either he has the old
crib at work again, or has hit on a safer way of working crib."
"Of course he has," nodded Dennison. "We ought to post the
class---especially Prescott own section comrades. They can catch
him, if they're sharp, and then pass the word through the class
without bothering the authorities. If Prescott is doing such things
he must be driven from West Point."
"He will be---see if he isn't," retorted Bert sullenly. "I'm
going to pass the word to the class."
"And I'll post the men in the same section with him," promised
Dennison.
"Why not post Prescott first?" demanded a cold voice. A cadet
had halted behind the pair.
"Oh, you, Furlong?" snarled Dodge, turning.
"Yes," replied Cadet Furlong. "And I told you, on a former
occasion, what I thought about back-biters."
"Be careful, Furlong!" warned Dennison angrily.
"At your service, sir, any time," coolly replied Furlong, though
he was a head shorter than Dennison, who was one of the big athletes
of the yearling class.
"But the class ought to know some truths," retorted Dodge harshly.
"Here comes some of the class now," replied Furlong, as seven
yearlings, on their way back from the library, turned in at the
sally-port. "Tell them for a start, Dodge, and I'll listen.
Hold on there, fellows. Oh, you there, Prescott? That's lucky.
Dodge has some 'facts' he thinks the class ought to know, and
I want you to hear them. Now, Dodge, turn around and repeat what
you were just saying."
There was no help for it. Dodge had to speak up, or be considered
a cur that bit only in the dark.
So, with a show of defiance, Dodge spoke hotly giving a very fair
repetition of what he had lately said. Prescott stood by, his
fists clenched, his face white, but without interrupting or making
any move.
"Now, state what you said, Mr. Dennison," requested Furlong coldly.
Thus cornered, Dennison, too, had to state truthfully what he had
just been saying.
There was a pause.
Some of the yearlings looked straight ahead. Others glanced curiously
at the principals in this little drama of cadet life. None of
them took Furlong to be anything more than the stage manager.
"Have you said all you have to say, Mr. Dodge?" demanded Cadet
Prescott.
"Yes," flared Bert.
"Have you anything that you wish to add, Mr. Dennison?" demanded
Dick, wheeling upon his other foe in the corps.
"Nothing more, at present," replied Dennison coolly. He realized
how much bigger and more powerful he was than Dick Prescott.
"Then, as for you, Mr. Dodge," continued Prescott, fixing his
old-time enemy with a cold eye, "you're a liar and a coward!"
Dodge doubled his fists, springing forward, but two of the yearlings
caught him and dragged him back, for old ramrod's back was already
turned. Dick was eyeing his other detractor.
"You, Mr. Dennison," continued Prescott, "are a dirty scandal-monger,
a back-biter and a source of danger to the honor of the cadet corps!"