BACK AT WEST POINT
“Just a moment, Mr. Doolittle,” said our hero, coolly. “Did you want
to look at this paper?” and he held the deed of trust, or, rather, the
rough draft of it, up so the crabbed old money lender could fix his
eyes on it.
“No, I don’t want to look at it,” was the snarling answer.
“Oh, excuse me. I thought you did,” Tom went on. He realized that he
had just saved the document from possible destruction, for the old man
had certainly made a grab for the paper, and, had he secured it he
might have held it to a burning gas-jet near his desk, where he had
been melting some sealing wax when Tom came in.
“No, I don’t want to see it,” Mr. Doolittle went on. “It isn’t any
good. Your father may have had an idea of putting that land in trust,
but he didn’t do it, and you can’t prove that he did.”
This, Tom realized, was his weak point. He had absolutely no proof
that the land was only deeded in trust to Captain Hawkesbury and Mr.
Doolittle. That it was actually deeded to them was brought out at Mr.
Taylor’s death, for the deed had been put on record, and they had
claimed the land and sold it to the railroad company. They claimed
that Mr. Taylor had given them the land in payment for money they had
advanced to him.
“That paper isn’t any good,” went on the old money-lender. “It might
just as well be thrown away. It has no value.”
It was strange then, Tom thought, that Mr. Doolittle should make such
an effort to secure it. But he said nothing about that then. Mr.
Doolittle appeared to have another sudden wave of anger.
“I haven’t any time to waste with you!” he stormed. “You needn’t come
here bothering me. Now you get out and don’t let me see any more of
you. If you think that paper’s any good why don’t you take it to some
lawyer? There’s plenty of ’em trying to make a living at law,” and he
chuckled mirthlessly.
Tom folded the document and put it back in his pocket. He realized that
it would be of no use to show the paper to a lawyer. What would be
the effect of an unexecuted deed of trust that was not even signed?
Tom knew the only thing that would avail him would be the completed
document itself, and that would have no effect unless it was dated
after the deed that had been put on file--that deed which gave the
property to the two men who had sold it.
Much disappointed, Tom went out. He had tried and failed. Well, matters
could go on as they were. There was still West Point, and Tom had yet
to make an assault on the final heights on top of which lay the coveted
diploma. Once he had secured that, he would see what could be done.
Mrs. Taylor did not show much disappointment, however much she may have
felt, and there must have been some.
“Never mind, Tom,” she said, when he reported to her the result of his
call on Mr. Doolittle. “You tried, and that was the best thing to do.
We aren’t any worse off than we were. We’ll get along somehow,” she
said bravely.
“Yes, but, Mother, I can’t bear to have you work so hard!”
“Work is the greatest blessing in this world, Tom,” she said with one
of her fine smiles. She did not add that it helped her to forget her
great loss. But perhaps Tom understood.
Putting aside the memory of the unpleasant interview with Mr.
Doolittle, Tom tried to enjoy his furlough. He went out with many of
his former friends, and made some new ones. He was in great demand at
several little dances gotten up by the High School Alumnae, and he
showed some of the girls new steps that he had learned from his cadet
chums.
“Say, Tom,” remarked Walter Penfield, one day, “I’ll be glad when you
go back to the Academy.”
“Why?” asked Tom, in surprise.
“Because the girls talk about nothing but you and your dances. You
don’t give another fellow a show!”
“Oh, if that’s all,” said Tom, “come in and I’ll teach you a few new
wrinkles.”
“Good!” cried Walter. “You may stay as long as you like.”
But Tom’s time was strictly limited and he had to return to West Point
the last of August. As was the custom, he and his chums marched up
the hill, torn and disheveled as to hats and garments, and had their
photographs taken. Then they took up the life where they had left off,
some two months before.
Tom had been made a cadet officer, and that, with the advance in class,
gave him more privileges than he had had formerly. There was harder
work to do, of course, for the studies were advanced. He had lessons in
astronomy, and had to spend long night hours in the observatory taking
observations of the stars. He became a fine mathematician, and he
fairly dreamed figures.
Building pontoon bridges, working with big guns and mortars, planning
entrenchments, taking part in sham battles, riding in the seemingly
reckless manner that characterizes West Pointers--these largely made up
Tom’s life in the second stage of his stay at the Military Academy.
Tom had rather hoped that Captain Hawkesbury would not be at West Point
after the furlough, but this was a vain wish, for the old army captain,
grimmer and meaner than before, if that were possible, was “right on
the job,” as Sam expressed it.
Of course, Tom again fell easily into the life with his former
chums, and he made some new acquaintances that were pleasant. But
overshadowing everything was a suspicion, deep back in Tom’s brain,
that all was not right in regard to the railroad land. That deed of
trust could not be forgotten, though how he was to turn it to advantage
Tom could not figure out.
He knew it would be worse than useless to appeal to Captain Hawkesbury.
That official cordially disliked him, Tom was sure, and he did not
want to have a scene at West Point. So he said nothing, but he resolved
to keep his eyes open.
Of Clarence Hawkesbury, Tom saw little. If the rich youth made another
effort to enter West Point, Tom was not aware of it. He did see
Clarence once or twice, the latter coming to some affairs given by the
upper classmen. But Clarence took no notice of Tom.
Not that this worried our hero any. He was only too glad not to come in
contact with the bully, for he wanted no more scenes like the one that
had preceded the motor boat accident.
Tom wished he had a chance to ascertain what went on between Captain
Hawkesbury and Mr. Doolittle. He wondered if the two corresponded, and
whether the old army officer had been informed of Tom’s visit to the
money-lender. But of course there was no way of finding this out. Tom
could not play the spy in that fashion, and he seldom had a chance,
now, to visit the captain’s quarters.
Occasionally he was sent there, in the course of his duties, or to
receive some reprimand for a real or fancied breach of the rules. But
Captain Hawkesbury left no more papers or letters lying about. Perhaps
he was aware that Tom was eager to get some sort of evidence.
Among the pleasures now allowed Tom and his chums since they had
graduated into a higher class was that of riding out on the public
roads on Wednesdays and Saturdays. They had all become expert horsemen,
and took delight in their steeds.
The pleasures of riding by themselves on the public road were
rather limited by the injunction that no one must dismount unless
it was necessary, and they could not go off the main roads. But, of
course, the construction placed on the word “necessary” in regard to
dismounting, was capable of extended application. Tom and his chums
managed to have good times.
Occasionally they met Captain Hawkesbury on these rides. He only
saluted them stiffly, and passed on, hardly giving Tom a glance.
“I suppose he thinks Clarence ought to be in my place,” Tom said to Sam.
“Let him take it out in supposing then,” was the rejoinder. “That can’t
hurt you.”
“No, but if he thinks we get off the horses now and then for--well, say
a little rest, he’d be the first one to report it.”
“That’s right,” said Harry. “Say, we’ll have to watch him. And if we
ever think he’s on to our game we’ll get ahead of him by reporting
ourselves first.”
“Sure!” agreed Tom.
There was a book kept in the guardhouse and in this volume the cadets
who were allowed the riding privileges were required to register their
departure and arrival. If the cadets chose they could also note, or
report, any of their own infractions of the rules against dismounting
without sufficient cause.