ANXIOUS DAYS
Tom realized that this first preliminary mental examination was, in a
way, not so important as would be the one he must undergo later at West
Point, should he be successful in receiving the appointment. But still
he knew he must do his best, for there were a number of lads competing,
all as anxious as he was to receive the coveted honor.
As a matter of fact Tom was a little fearful of Clarence. Though
the nephew of Captain Hawkesbury was, or wanted to be considered, a
“sport,” still he was a brilliant student when he took a little pains.
The trouble with him was that he would do only the minimum amount of
study at the high school, and in consequence did not stand high.
But it was evident that he had done some extra preparation for this
test, and, as Tom learned afterward, Clarence had, on the suggestion of
his uncle, engaged a private tutor. In addition Captain Hawkesbury,
who was an old army officer, knew in a general way what sort of
questions would be asked, and he (so Clarence boasted) had been giving
the nephew “points.”
Captain Hawkesbury was very fond of his rather careless nephew in a
certain way. The lad was the son of an only brother of the captain’s,
and both of Clarence’s parents had died when he was a small boy.
Perhaps this accounted, in a measure, for his slack ways, his
wastefulness with money, and his love for fast companions.
“But it won’t do to think he can’t beat me,” Tom reasoned. “I’ve just
got to do my best to stand far ahead of him.”
A room in the court house had been set aside for the candidates, and
several local high school teachers were on hand, working in connection
with the congressman, to see that matters went off properly.
The boys were seated at tables, well separated, and the rules governing
the examination explained to them. Then with pencil and paper, and with
the list of questions before them, they set to work.
A hasty glance on the part of Tom showed him that the history
examination, which was the first, was comparatively easy. He had always
been fond of the study, and had a natural aptitude for remembering
names and the dates of important events. There was only one question of
which he was not quite certain, but he realized that the missing of one
would not seriously pull down his average.
He looked around at the other boys, some of whom were writing away
bravely, while others were hopelessly, or helplessly, biting the ends
of their pencils, or else staring up at the ceiling as if to draw
inspiration from that.
Clarence Hawkesbury was seated in front of Tom, and in the next aisle.
As our hero was on his last question, having temporarily passed the one
about which he was in doubt, Tom saw Clarence working with his right
hand partly up the left sleeve of his coat. It was as if the captain’s
nephew was trying to pull down a wrinkled part of his shirt that
annoyed him.
Tom watched, rather idly, and saw Clarence glance quickly around the
room. What he saw, or, rather, what he did not see, appeared to be
satisfactory, for the lad took from the sleeve of his coat a small
folded paper. He glanced at it quickly and then let go of it.
To Tom’s surprise the paper quickly disappeared up the sleeve again,
with a snapping motion that could leave but one inference.
“He’s got some answers written down on a paper, and it’s fastened to a
rubber band up his sleeve,” decided Tom. “He can pull it down, and,
when he lets go of it, the paper snaps back up his sleeve again. It’s a
sharp trick all right.”
It was evident that Clarence had received from his concealed paper the
information he lacked, for he at once began writing rapidly.
“The sneak!” mused Tom. “I can’t tell on him, of course, but if he
passes this exam, and I don’t--!”
Tom shrugged his shoulders. There was nothing he could do.
Tom turned in his paper, and, a little later, Clarence did the same.
The arrogant youth wore a confident air, and winked his eye at Tom.
The arithmetic and algebra tests were more difficult, but Tom was
pretty sure he had passed, especially in the former. There was one
problem in the binomial theorem that appalled him for a time. But he
set his mind to it, and worked it out in a manner he felt sure was
right.
Once again he saw Clarence surreptitiously refer to a paper which he
pulled down from his sleeve. It was a risky proceeding, as the high
school instructors were walking about the room, looking for any such
cheating. But luck (if one can call it luck) favored Clarence. The
instructor assigned to his section of the room was rather elderly and
near-sighted, and Clarence was not caught.
“Of course I’m not sure he’s using a pony,” thought Tom, “but it
certainly does look so.”
During the noon recess, when the boys were allowed to get some lunch,
there were all sorts of excited talk about the examinations of the
morning. Some declared them “easy,” and others expressed the opinion
that they were “stiff.” Some of the lads, hastily eating a sandwich,
began studying feverishly, in anticipation of the afternoon ordeal.
Tom decided that he would be better off if he freshened his mind with
a walk, for he felt he had done all the studying he could manage with
profit, and he reasoned that the hardest part of the ordeal was over.
Two studies formed the basis for examination in the afternoon, and
two were set down for the following morning. Tom finished about four
o’clock, being one of the first to hand in his papers, and he started
to take the trolley back to Chester.
“Think you passed, Tom?” asked a fellow high school student, who came
along a little later.
“Well, I sure hope so!” Tom answered. “What did you think of it all?”
“Some wasn’t as bad as I was afraid it would be, and part of it was
worse. I’m worried about my algebra.”
“I didn’t think that was so hard, except that one problem. But I
managed to make mine prove, though maybe they won’t pass my method.”
“You’re lucky, Tom!” returned his companion.
Tom was not so sure about that.
“Wait until I see if I get the appointment,” he thought.
Mrs. Taylor was anxiously waiting for her son, and inquired as to how
the examination had gone. Of course Tom could tell nothing definite,
but he and his mother indulged in high hopes. Mrs. Taylor really wanted
Tom to go to West Point, since he had so set his heart on it. She
felt that, somehow, she would raise the necessary hundred dollars for
deposit, even if she had to sell some of the small amount in securities
that she kept against the proverbial rainy day.
Tom was up early next morning, and again made the trip to Preston. Some
of the boys who had been there the day before were not now on hand.
It was whispered that one of them had been caught cheating in getting
information from a fellow competitor. Both had been barred.
“I wonder if one of them was Clarence?” mused Tom, as he heard this
talk going around before the hour set for the final tests.
But when the doors were being closed Clarence came in, tossing aside
the butt of a cigarette.
“Here comes the sport,” some one murmured. Clarence heard it, and
looked up, obviously not ill-pleased.
This examination was more difficult than Tom had anticipated, and he
worked hard over the list of questions. So did most of the other boys,
though a few “took it easy.” But perhaps they recognized the fact that
they had no chance, and so did not worry. Clarence seemed to be writing
diligently.
“He’s evidently going into this for all he’s worth,” thought Tom.
“Well, so am I, for that matter.”
It was something of a nervous strain, and Tom was glad when it was over
and he could hand in his papers and go home.
Then came days of anxious waiting--days in which Tom and his mother
discussed the possibilities of the case from all angles. Had Tom passed
with a high enough average, enough higher than that of the other
candidates, to secure the appointment?
There could be but one lad named, with another as alternate, who, in
case the first one failed in the tests to be conducted at West Point,
would be named for the coveted honor.
Tom dreaded to hear the sound of the postman’s whistle. But for nearly
a week there was no word. Then when Tom felt, in his desperation,
as though he would simply have to telephone to the congressman, and
learn what had been the outcome, there came, addressed to him, a long
legal-looking envelope. In the upper left-hand corner was the imprint
of the congressman’s name. It had come from his private law office in
Preston.
Tom’s fingers trembled, and his heart beat with a smothery, choking
sensation. Had he passed? Would he receive the appointment?
Slowly he tore open the envelope.