"BABY."
A year had passed since Frank entered Fardale Military Academy--a year
crowded with events and adventures such as made its memory both
pleasant and painful.
The time of the June encampment had again arrived.
Frank was no longer a plebe, and the glistening chevrons on his sleeves
told that the first year in the academy had not been wasted. He was
now Cadet Corporal Merriwell.
The graduates had departed, and the furlough men were away at their
homes.
A new squad of plebes had been admitted to the school, and the
yearlings, mad with joy at being released from plebedom themselves,
were trying every scheme their fertile brains could devise for making
miserable the lives of their successors.
During the first two weeks that the plebes had been in the academy the
opportunities for hazing them had been few; but immediately on getting
into camp the mischievous lads who had suffered the year before, not a
few of whom had sworn that nothing in the wide world--nothing, nothing,
nothing!--could tempt them to molest a fourth-class man, lost no time
in "getting after" the "new stiffs," as the plebes were sometimes
called at Fardale.
The yearlings were eager to find fags among the plebes, and they
generally succeeded in inducing the new boys to bring buckets of water,
sweep the tent floors, make beds, clean up, and do all sorts of work
which the older cadets should have done themselves and were supposed to
do.
While the penalty for exacting the performance of any menial or
degrading task, as well as for hazing, was court-martial and possible
dismissal, the yearling generally succeeded in getting the work done
without giving orders or making demands, so the plebes could not say
they had been coerced into doing those things against their will.
Each yearling sought to have a particular fag to attend to him and his
wishes, and no cadet could demand service of another fellow's fag
without danger of bringing about trouble.
At first, Frank had resolved to astonish his companions by attending to
his own duties entirely by himself, and having no fag; but it was
shortly after the new boys came to Fardale that he saw something that
made him change his mind.
Among the plebes was a rather timid-looking, red-cheeked lad, who
seemed even further out of his element than did his awkward companions.
He was shy and retiring, blushed easily, and, at times, had trouble in
finding his voice.
Such a fellow was certain to attract attention at any school, and he
was soon singled out as a particular object for chaffing by the
yearlings.
He blushed to the roots of his hair on being called "Baby," "Mamma's
Boy," "Little Tootsy-Wootsy," and other names of the sort applied to
him by the cadets.
His real name was Fred Davis, and of the nicknames given him Baby
seemed to stick the best, so it was not long before he came to be known
by that almost altogether, the officers and instructors being the only
ones who did not use it in addressing him.
At the outset Fred was unfortunate in being singled out for guying by
Hugh Bascomb, who was a bully by nature, and whose ideas of fun were
likely to be of a vicious order.
Bascomb saw he could plague Davis, and he kept at the little fellow,
piling it on unmercifully. In fact, he seemed to take a strong dislike
to the boy with the pink cheeks, whom he derisively designated as "the
dolly boy," and he lost no opportunity to humiliate Davis.
It happened that, on a certain occasion, Bascomb desired that Fred
should lie for him, but, to his surprise, the timid plebe absolutely
and firmly declined to lie.
"I--I can't do it, sir," stammered the little fellow. "I'd do it if I
could, but I can't."
"Why not, pray?" fiercely demanded Bascomb, towering above the
shrinking lad and scowling blackly. "That's what I want to know--why
not?"
"Because I promised mother I would not lie, and she--she has confidence
in me."
"Oh, she--she has!" mocked Bascomb. "You make me sick--you do! I
never took any stock in mamma boys. Now you're going to do as I want
you to, or I'll make it hot for you."
"I shall not lie, sir."
"All right; wait till you get into camp. Oh, we won't do a thing to
you!"
From that time Bascomb did his best to set his companions against
Davis, a fact which Frank soon noted.
Knowing that Bascomb was at heart a bully, Frank immediately saw that
Davis would have a hard life during his first months in the academy.
Frank's sympathy went out to the little fellow, who had been so
tenderly reared that he knew very little of the harsh ways of the world
outside his own home. He resolved that the little plebe should be
given a fair show.
Somehow Frank divined that Bascomb intended to secure Davis for his
fag, and he resolved to balk the bully in this. So it came about that,
on the day that the plebes marched into camp, with their bundles under
their arms, Merriwell found an opportunity to take Davis into his tent
and instruct him in cleaning shoes and setting things to order.
Fred attended to these things cheerfully, never dreaming that they were
not a part of his regular duties. When he had finished, Merriwell said:
"That is very satisfactory, Mr. Davis. Immediately after tattoo you
may come round and be shown how to make up beds. In the meantime, if
any one else should require you to perform service of a similar nature
in any tent other than your own, you may inform them that you have
already received instructions from me, and that the state of your
health will prevent you from doing too much labor of the kind. Do you
understand?"
"I think so, sir."
"Very good. You may go."
Frank's duties kept him very busy during the most of the day. He had
little time to look after Davis, and he scarcely gave his fag a thought
till after supper, when the dusk of evening was settling over the cove,
and the "plebe hotels" had been surrounded at various points by
mischievous yearlings. Then he took a fancy to stroll around and see
how Baby was getting along.
On his way down the street he passed the tent occupied by Bascomb. He
might have walked on, but the low, fierce voice of the big cadet caught
his ear, and he distinctly heard these words:
"What's that? You refuse to bring water for me? Have done this kind
of work already for Merriwell? So Corporal Merriwell has been
compelling a plebe to perform menial services? Well, that might cost
him those pretty stripes on his sleeves! What do I care for him! I
want you to bring that water, and you will bring it."
"But he told me not to do work of this kind for anybody else but
myself," came the faltering voice of Fred Davis.
"Oh, he did? Well, that's interesting! I suppose by that he means to
lay claim to you. I wonder what Lieutenant Gordan would say if he knew
what one of his particular pets has been up to! We'll see who is best
man in this affair. Bring that water!"
"I--I don't want to, sir."
"Well, it doesn't make any difference about that; you'll bring it,
whether you want to or not. If you don't, I will----"
"What will you do in that case, Bascomb?" quietly asked Frank, as he
stepped lightly and quickly into the tent, and confronted the big
cadet, who was towering over Fred Davis in a threatening attitude.
Bascomb recoiled, with a muttered exclamation of dismay.