Time flies at the Point, even in the hardest year of the four, as
McCrea had called that of the Second Class. What with mechanics and
chemistry, "tactics" and drawing, riding and drills, winter was upon
them before our boys fairly realized it. Every day seemed to make
Graham feel more assured in his position, and to strengthen the esteem
in which he was held. The cabal of the few First Class men had reacted
upon the originators like a boomerang. Jennings was in hospital a full
week, and Curry walked punishment tours until January. Now, while
Jennings was probably not the best man, pugilistically speaking,
whom they could put up against the first sergeants, the better men
were as sound morally and mentally as they were physically. Some
of them expressed regret that Graham felt it his duty to make such
serious reports against their class-mate, but it was conceded by every
soldier and gentleman that Curry had brought it all on himself. As
for Jennings, he richly deserved the thrashing that he had received,
and a more humiliated and astonished fellow there was not in the
corps. There was no more trouble in Company B. Geordie ruled it with
a hand that never shook, yet without the faintest bluster or show of
triumph. The First Class men, as a rule, were a very pleasant set, with
a pride in their company, a pride in the corps, and a readiness to
sustain Graham; and so he and his fellow-sergeants were spared further
complication of that description. "In time of peace prepare for war,
however," laughed Connell. "There's no surer way of keeping the peace
than being ready for anything that may turn up."
Almost before they knew it the short days and the long, long evenings
were upon them again. Mechanics and chemistry seemed to grow harder,
but Graham had gained confidence and his instructors wisdom. They found
that by digging under the surface there was much more to Geordie's
knowledge of a subject than was at first apparent, and his mind as
well worth cultivating as many a quicker soil. As for the corps, it is
remarkable how many there were who knew all along that Jennings was
a vastly overrated, over-confident fellow, whose fame was based on
victories over lighter weights, and whose condition had been running
down as steadily as Coyote's had been building up. In his own class
Geordie was now the object of an almost enthusiastic regard, while the
plebes looked upon him with hero-worship most extravagant. He had his
enemies, as strong and dutiful men must ever have, but they were of
such a class as Curry and Frazier and Jennings. "And what decent man in
the corps cares for the ill-will of such as they?" asked Ames. "It's
proof of a fellow's superiority."
Midwinter came, and one day Frazier was "wired" for suddenly. "Bad
news from home," said Jennings, in explanation, when the battalion was
gathering between the first and second drums for dinner. This time
the superintendent did not deny a leave, but extended it a few days
to enable the boy to remain for his father's funeral. Benny came back
looking years older, sallow, and unhealthy. The broad, deep mourning
band on his left arm was explanation of his non-appearance at the
Thanksgiving hop. Geordie, Ames, and Connell went over to look on and
hear the music.
[Illustration: "GEORDIE, AMES, AND CONNELL WENT OVER TO LOOK ON AND
HEAR THE MUSIC"]
"We'll have to be doing this sort of thing next year, Pops," said
Connell, "so we may as well go and pick up pointers." There were not
many girl visitors—at least, not enough for the cavaliers of the
senior class, so that many of the corps did not dance at all. About
ten o'clock Graham decided he had seen enough and would go home to
study a while. The wind was blowing hard from the east. There was a
mild, pallid moon vainly striving to peep through a swift-sailing
fleet of scud, and throwing a faint, ghostly light over the barracks
and guard-house. Out from the shadows of the stone-wall back of the
mess building suddenly appeared a figure in the cadet overcoat with the
cape thrown over his head. Catching sight of Graham, and recognizing
apparently his step and form, the figure slipped back again whence it
came, but not so quickly that Pops did not know it was Benny Frazier.
Half a minute later, as he sprang up the steps of the fourth division,
he came upon two cadets standing just within the doorway—plebes.
"Oh, Mr. Graham," said one, "the officer of the day is inspecting for
men in confinement, and Mr. Jennings and Mr. Frazier are both out."
Not an instant was to be lost. Pops could hear the clink of the cadet
sword and the slam of doors in the second division. In two minutes the
officer would be over in the fourth, and "Benny and Jenny," as the pair
were occasionally termed, would be "hived" absent. Arrest and heavy
punishment must surely follow. Pops never stopped to follow the chain
of thought. Back he sped on the wings of the wind. Five seconds and
he reached the corner. Not a sign of the recent prowler, yet Geordie
felt sure he had seen Frazier dart back behind that wall barely half
a minute before—engaged in some clandestine bargaining with one of his
messengers from the Falls, probably—and Jennings with him. Not a sign
of the party down the dark, narrow lane behind the wall, not a sign of
them up the grassy slope to the west back of the area retaining wall.
"Frazier! Jennings! Quick!" he called, loud enough to attract their
attention if they were near at hand.
No answer.
It was off limits if he ventured either way, west or south, from the
corner where he stood, and "off chevrons" if caught. Why risk his
prospects for First Class year to save men who had ever been his
enemies, and never would have lifted a hand to save him? Only the
swaying of the branches and the sweep of the wind answered his excited
hail. Not an instant to lose! Bounding up the westward path he ran
until beyond the guard-house, and there came suddenly upon a shadowy
group of four.
"Back to your room, Frazier! Inspection!" he gasped, halting short.
Two cadets rushed at the word. The two other forms slunk away, as
though seeking to hide themselves among the trees up the hill-side.
One was a civilian, a stranger to him; the other the drummer with whom
Frazier had had the altercation more than a year previous. What were
they doing now? Graham never stopped to have a word with them. Quickly
he retraced his steps, and succeeded in regaining the area unnoticed.
The officer of the day was just coming out of the fourth division as
Geordie went in.
"Hello, Coyote! Tired of the light fantastic? or didn't you hop
to-night?" he jovially asked.
"Had to come back to bone," was the reply.
It was evident from the cheery manner that nothing had been found
amiss. The pair had managed to reach their den in safety, then; yet
only in the nick of time. Geordie went to his room and to work, yet the
thought of that unseemly stolen interview between Frazier and Jennings,
the drummer and the stranger, kept intruding itself upon his mind.
Presently a stealthy step came down the stair and to his door. Enter
Frazier, still pale, still nervous and palpitating.
"Graham, you did me a great service—me and Jennings—to-night. I—I
know—we haven't got along as well as we should, and I suppose I am
partially to blame; but I don't want you to think I can't appreciate
the risk you ran to save us, though either of us, of course, would
have done as much for you—any time. You know that, I hope. We had some
business out there, and d-did you see the others—so as to know them?"
"I knew the drummer well enough," said Graham, his blue eyes full on
Benny's nervous face.
"Well, the other one's a cit. who's doing something for us. Say, one
good turn deserves another. Don't tell anybody about where you saw
us, or who were with us, will you? I wouldn't like it to get out on
Jennings's account. He's got to work like a dog to graduate, as it is."
And before Graham could answer, in came Ames, astonished at sight of
Frazier, and to him Benny began a hurried explanation of how Pops had
heard of the inspection, and had rushed down to warn him. Then saying
"Remember what I asked you" to Graham, he awkwardly let himself out.
"How are the mighty fallen!" soliloquized Ames, as Benny disappeared.
"They say he's going 'way down in both Phil. and Chem. in January. He
has no French to help him now. Benton thinks he'll tumble into the low
thirties. What did he want of you?"
"Nothing to speak of," answered Pops, with that quiet grin of his.
"He-e—said he came to thank me for giving that warning."
"Oh, thanks be blowed! He never came to thank you, Pops. That was only
a pretext. He came to ask you to do or not to do something on his
account, and I know it."
So did Geordie, by this time, but could not say so.
Four days after this episode leave of absence from 9.30 A.M. until 11
P.M. was granted Cadet Frazier on urgent personal business. A letter
from an executor of the Frazier estate was the means of getting the
order. It was known in the corps that, being now twenty-one, Benny
was master of some little property, though nowhere near what he had
expected would be his own. Making all allowances for the sadness and
depression naturally following the loss of a loved parent, it was
remarked that every day seemed to add to the trouble and dejection in
Frazier's sallow face. He took little exercise, except the enforced
tramp in the area on Saturday afternoons. He smoked incessantly. He
seemed petulant and miserable in Jennings's society, yet Jennings was
his inseparable companion. Wherever he went, there was Jennings. "What
in the world is the tie that binds those two?" was the question often
asked. They were utterly unlike. Their antecedents were widely opposed.
Frazier had been reared in luxury and refinement; Jennings in nobody
knew just what. He was the representative of one of the "toughest"
congressional districts, originally known as the Sanguinary Second,
in a crowded metropolis. He was smart in a certain way that spoke of
long association with the street Arab and saloon sports. He was useful
in plebe days when his class was standing up for what few rights a
plebe is conceded to have, but lost caste as rapidly as his comrades
gained wisdom. Only among the few weaklings of the Curry stamp had he a
vestige of influence left before the long-expected fight with Graham,
and after that and his utter and unlooked-for defeat his name seemed
held only in derision. Yet he lorded it over Frazier. "You can hear
them snapping and snarling at one another at any hour of the day or
night," said their near neighbors. "If Frazier hates him so, why on
earth doesn't he 'shake' him? They're getting enough demerit between
them to swamp half a dozen men." These comments were almost universal.
By this time Frazier's downward course had brought him, both in
philosophy and chemistry, into Geordie's sections. Once in a while he
would rouse himself and make a brilliant recitation, but as a rule he
seemed apathetic, even reckless. Time and again the young fellow's
dark-rimmed eyes were fixed upon his old plebe room-mate's face with
such a hungry, wistful, woful look that it haunted Geordie for days.
Every time the latter surprised him in the act, however, Benny would
turn quickly and dejectedly away. But more than once Graham almost made
up his mind to go and beg the boy to say what was his trouble, and let
him help him out.
At last the opportunity came. It was just before the January
examination. Going one night to Frazier's room to notify him of a
change in the guard detail, he found Benny alone at the table, his head
buried in his arms, his attitude one of hopelessness and despair. He
sprang up the instant he heard Geordie's voice.
"I—I—thought it was Jennings," he stammered, all confusion. "What's
wanted?"
"I came to tell you Ewen would go on sick report, and you'd have to
march on guard in his place."
This was said at the door. Then, impulsively stepping forward, Graham
laid a hand on his shoulder.
"But, Frazier, I hate to see you looking so miserable. If you're in
trouble, can't you let us help you out? There are plenty of fellows
left to be your friends. It doesn't become me to say anything against
your room-mate, but lots of us think you would do well to cut loose
from him."
"Cut loose—from him?" wailed Benny, wringing his hands, and turning to
Geordie with a look in his dark eyes Pops can never forget. "Oh, if I
only—" But there he stopped abruptly, and turned quickly away. Jennings
came frowning in, his angry eyes full of suspicion as they glowered at
Pops.
"To what circumstance do we owe the honor of this visit?" asked he, in
attempted imitation of the theatrical heroes of his acquaintance.
Geordie calmly looked him over a moment, but never deigned reply. Then
turned to Benny. "Frazier," said he, as he moved quietly to the door,
"any time you feel like dropping in on Ames and me, come, and be sure
of a welcome." Then, with another cool glance at Jennings, but without
speaking one word to him, he left the room.
That night—a bitter cold December night it was—Pops had just finished
telling Ames of the strange state of things as he found them on his
visit to Frazier; the tattoo drums were hammering through the area and
drowning other sounds; the inspector of the upper subdivision had come
down into Bend's room to have a chat with his fellow-officer, when the
drums stopped with one abrupt and unanimous slam, and as they did so
Graham's eyes dilated, and he sprang to his feet.
A gasping, half-articulate cry and the sound of scuffling feet came
from the third floor. Geordie could have sworn he heard his name. Out
he went, up the iron stairs he flew, and into utter darkness. The hall
light was doused as his foot spurned the lowermost step. Whirling at
the head of the stairs, he sped to Frazier's door, other cadets rushing
at his heels. There was Benny, with livid face, struggling in the grasp
of his burly room-mate, whose muscular hands were choking, strangling
at poor Frazier's throat. One blow from Graham's fist sent the big
bully reeling across the room; while Benny, suddenly released, fell all
of a heap on the floor.
"You brute! How dare you grapple a little fellow like that?" was all
Pops had time to say before Bend and his lieutenant came bounding in
behind him.
"Back, Jennings! _Down_ with him!" ordered Bend, as the maddened
"tough" sprang to the arm-rack and seized his rifle. Half a dozen hands
collared him before he could draw the bayonet. He backed into a corner,
his young captain facing him.
"Stand where you are, sir," was the stern order. "What does all this
mean? What has he done to you, Frazier?"
Geordie and Ames were raising Benny by this time. He was faint,
bleeding at the mouth and ears, speechless, and out of breath.
"Give him some water and lay him down on the bed. Don't crowd around
him. He needs air. Get out, all of you!" and Bend turned on the
rapidly increasing crowd. "Back to your quarters!" And then the rattle
of cadet swords could be heard against the iron stairway—the sergeant
of the guard racing to the scene, followed by the officer of the day.
"He insulted and defied me," growled Jennings, glowering about on the
circle of hostile faces. "He insulted my people, my kith and kin. I
dare him to deny it, or to tell what led to this. Take your hands off
of me, you fellows; I'm no criminal. If you're laying for a thief,
there's your game yonder," he said, indicating his prostrate room-mate.
"Shut up, Jennings," ordered Bend; "that's cowardly."
"Cowardly, is it? You'll rue those words, my fine fellow. I thrashed
you well once, and I've just been praying for another chance, and now
I've got it. Cowardly, is it? By Heaven, you'll smart for that!"
And then, calm and dignified, appeared the officer in charge,
Lieutenant Allen. A glance at Benny, still livid and gasping, was
sufficient. "Go for Dr. Brett," he said to Ames. Then he turned on
Jennings, still backed into the corner, and confronted there by his
cool young captain. "There seems to be no reasonable doubt that you
are your room-mate's assailant, Mr. Jennings. You are placed in close
arrest, sir."
Another night, hours later, the wires flashed a message to the widowed
mother, bidding her come to the bedside of her only son.