AN EXPLOSION
So suddenly had the “fracas,” as the boys referred to it afterward,
taken place, that for the moment no one, not even Tom, knew what to do
or say. They all remained, in strained attitudes of surprise, looking
at Clarence.
Tom had acted instinctively in striking out, the instinct that causes
every lad to want to hit back, once he is hit. In reality there was
little of real anger back of Tom’s blow. But it had been effective,
that was evident.
“He certainly can hit some,” one of the older cadets remarked in a low
voice.
“A good, straight blow,” murmured another.
As yet, strictly following precedent, the upper classmen had given no
indication that they so much as knew a “plebe” existed.
Clarence now sat up slowly, with a dazed look on his face. Some of his
companions could not refrain from smiling. They did not altogether
sympathize with Clarence, it seemed. It developed afterward that they
were certain wealthy cadets whose acquaintance young Hawkesbury had
made the previous summer at a fashionable resort.
“Who--who hit me?” Clarence demanded, as he rubbed his chin, on which
showed a dull red mark.
“I did,” Tom answered, not a whit afraid. He was quite willing to do
the same thing over again if he had to.
“Oh, you--you hit me--did you?” went on Clarence. His brain seemed dull
of comprehension.
“Yes,” said Tom. “But you struck me first, if you remember.”
“Huh! I did, eh? Well, I’ll hit you again, that’s what I will. I’ll
show you--”
Clarence struggled to his feet, but some of the cadets with him
gathered around him.
“Say, you don’t know enough to quit when you’ve had enough,” said one.
“He’ll only knock you down again. You’re in no condition to fight.”
“That’s right, Hawkesbury. Take it easy,” advised another. “What do you
want to mix things up for?”
“Why he’s the fellow who did me out of my appointment--my West Point
place--he did it--Tom Taylor!” and he pointed a wavering finger at our
hero.
“Well if he got the appointment it was because he won it fair and
square,” said a tall, quiet cadet. “That’s the only way one can get
into West Point. Forget it, Hawkesbury. You’ve had enough.”
“Yes, come on down to the river,” suggested another. “A little trip on
the water will do us all good. It must be getting close to grub time,
too. Come along.”
Some of them linked their arms in those of Clarence, and began to urge
him out of the summer garden. The little clash had not attracted much
attention, as it was all over so soon.
“I--I’ll fix him yet!” muttered Clarence, vindictively. But he allowed
himself to be led away by his cadet friends. Perhaps the memory of that
stinging blow on his chin was a persuader.
“Well, you came out of that all right, Tom,” observed Sam, when the
other party, rather noisy and hilarious, had gone away. All the while
the other cadets had followed the custom that has prevailed from time
immemorial, and did not bestow the slightest look of recognition on the
“plebes.” But Tom and his friends were used to that by this time, and
expected it.
“Yes, I’m sorry I had to hit him, but it was the only way,” Tom said.
“And I thought, while I was about it, I might as well make it a good
one.”
“That’s the ticket!” Chad said. “He sure is a cad, that Clarence
fellow. What’s his game, anyhow?”
“Just plain revenge and meanness, I think,” Tom answered. “His uncle is
Captain Hawkesbury, you know.”
“Better not let him know you knocked his precious nephew down, or he’ll
make it hot for you,” suggested Harry.
“Oh, he’ll probably hear of it,” said Tom, a little apprehensively,
“but I’ll be on my guard not to get caught, just the same.”
They finished their cream, and then sat for a while in the cool shade
of the summer garden, enjoying to the full the rest from drill and
other duties at the Academy.
It was a respite that would not occur again for a year, perhaps longer,
if any of them happened to be caught in some scrape that would curtail
their holiday privileges.
And, as has been explained, they would not be allowed a furlough until
they had completed two years at West Point. This time seemed so far off
that none of them dared think of it.
“Well, let’s go out around town,” suggested Harry, after a while. “We
want to take in all the sights. Not that they’re so many, but they mean
a heap to us ‘plebes.’ Come along.”
“What about a moving picture show?” asked Sam.
“Have we time?” Tom asked.
“To see part of one, anyhow,” was the opinion of Chad. So, having paid
their score, they strolled out. They saw nothing of Clarence or his
cronies, and a little later our friends were seated in a small moving
picture place, enjoying the reels of comedy and tragedy.
They still had an hour or so of liberty left after coming out of the
exhibition before they were due at the Academy, a special privilege
having been granted all save those being punished for some infraction
of the rules. These unfortunates were not allowed to leave the limits
of the military reservation.
“No need to be in a rush,” observed Chad, as He noticed Tom heading for
the place where they had left their boat.
“Well, I’d rather be back a little ahead of time than after it,” was
Tom’s comment.
“So had I,” came from Sam.
“We’ve got time for an ice cream soda, anyhow,” was Harry’s invitation
to the other boys.
“And as it will be a long while before we’ll have a chance at another,
I move you, Mr. President, that we take advantage of this generous
offer!” exclaimed Chad.
“The motion prevails,” said Tom, and they marched to a drug store.
When they reached, a little later, the place where they had left their
boat, Tom and his friends saw, just ahead of them, Clarence and the
cadets who had been with him during the unpleasantness in the summer
garden.
“Hold on--wait a minute,” advised Tom, holding back. “Let’s wait until
they get out of the way.”
“You’re not afraid of him, are you?” asked Harry.
“No, but I don’t want to get into another fight here. One of us might
go into the water, and I don’t want it to be me,” Tom said, with a
smile.
“That’s right. It wouldn’t look very well reporting back all wet,”
agreed Harry.
“They’ve got a motor boat,” remarked Sam, as they saw Clarence and the
cadets preparing to enter a fine gasoline craft.
“Yes, that belongs to Captain Hawkesbury.” Tom said. He could not keep
back a certain bitter feeling in his heart that he should be so poor
as not to be able to afford a craft of this kind, while the other lad
had one. “And, maybe, if the truth were known,” reflected Tom, “it was
bought with the money my father might have made on that railroad land
deal.”
Laughing and talking loudly, the older cadets and Clarence entered the
motor craft. The engine started with a roar, then slowed down, and
again burst into a series of explosions.
“What’s up?” asked Harry, as they were getting ready to take out their
own rowboat.
“Oh, they’re just monkeying with it,” said Tom. “It looks as though
Clarence were trying to show how much he knows, or doesn’t know, about
a motor boat.”
“Well, he’d better watch his step,” observed Harry. “The river isn’t
any too smooth to-day.”
What with the current and wind the Hudson was not as smooth as a
millpond. But Clarence and his chums, the cadets, seemed to have no
anxiety. They did not start off immediately from the dock, but ran the
boat up and down, Clarence evidently letting his friends try their
hands at steering and experimenting with the engine.
“There they go. Now let’s start,” suggested Tom. “They can’t run us
down now, and claim it was an accident.”
Slowly the rowboat made its way after the motor launch. Tom and his
chums were discussing the experiences of the day, wondering what the
morrow would bring forth, and dwelling on the good time they had
enjoyed, when suddenly there was a muffled report just ahead of them.
They all looked up, startled, and Tom cried:
“It’s an explosion; On that motor boat!”
Looking to where he pointed they saw a cloud of smoke hovering over the
craft containing Clarence Hawkesbury and the cadets.