SETTING THE TRAP.
The dinner hour had passed, likewise the second policing of the day had
been attended to by the humble plebes. The afternoon's drill was over;
it was time for full dress parade.
Company streets were alive with bustling cadets. Officers were winding
themselves into their red sashes, privates were giving the last
polishing touches to spotlessly shining guns. And the plebes, lonely and
disconsolate, were watching the preparations for the ceremony and
wondering if the time really would ever come when they too might be
esteemed handsome enough to be put on parade.
There was one plebe, however, to whom no such foolish idea occurred. For
indeed, he was quite convinced that he was better looking in his new
uniform than most of them, and a great deal more aristocratic than all.
He was, at the moment we stole in upon his thoughts, marching with much
dignity down the street of Company B.
He carried his hands at his sides, "palms to the front, little fingers
on the seams of the trousers," as plebes used to be obliged to do
whenever they walked about in public. But even with all that stiff and
awkward pose he could not lose the characteristic dudish "Fifth Avenue"
gait without which our friend Chauncey would not have been himself.
For it was Chauncey, and he was bound upon an all important duty.
He stopped at one of the tents; there was only one occupant in it, a
yearling, red-headed, hot-tempered looking chap, with a turned-up nose
and a wealth of freckles, Corporal Spencer, known to his classmates as
"Chick."
Master Chauncey Van Rensselaer Mount-Bonsall stood in the doorway and
bowed with his most genteel, perfect and inimitable bow. He would have
knocked had he seen anything but canvas to knock on.
"Mr. Spencer?" he inquired.
The yearling stared at the plebe in amazement; but Chauncey's politeness
and urbanity were contagious, and Corporal Spencer could not help
bowing, too.
"May I have the privilege of a few moments' conversation with you?" the
plebe next inquired.
"Ahem!" said Mr. Spencer. "Why--er--I suppose so."
"Corporal Spencer, I have a favor to ask of you, don't cher know, bah
Jove!"
Corporal Spencer was silent.
"I do not know why I should look to you for it, except--aw--ye know,
you were my drill master, and so I look to you as my superior, my
guardian, so to speak."
"That's a little taffy for him," Chauncey added--to himself. "Bah Jove,
I think the deuced idiot has taken the bait."
The plebe lost no time in taking advantage of his opportunity; he opened
an envelope he held in his hand.
"I received to-day," he began, "a card, ye know, an invitation to the
hop. I do not know who sent it, bah Jove, but I'm deuced grateful, for
I'm awfully fond of dawncing. I need scarcely tell you that I shall
hasten to accept it, don't cher know."
The look of delight which spread over the yearling's face was not lost
upon the plebe.
"So the idiot is going to fall into the trap," thought the former.
"So the idiot thinks I'm idiot enough to be fooled," thought Chauncey.
Chauncey continued, delighted with his success, no less than the
corporal was with his supposed one.
"Now, I have two friends," he said, "plebes, don't cher know, who are
deuced anxious to come with me. And I wanted to awsk you, bah Jove, if
you could get me two invitations. I know it is a great deal for one to
do for a plebe, but----"
Corporal Spencer was in such a hurry to assent that he could not wait
for the plebe to finish.
"Not at all!" he cried. "Not at all. Why, I shall be most happy to do it
for you, Mr. Mount-Bonsall. Really, it is a very small favor, for I have
plenty of invitations at my disposal. Wait just one moment, and you
shall have them. The yearling class will be delighted to--ahem--welcome
your two friends."
A minute or two later Master Chauncey's Fifth Avenue gait was carrying
him swiftly up the street again, with two more of the much coveted
invitations in his hand. And Chick Spencer was rushing into another tent
to seize his friend Corporal Jasper wildly by the arm.
"What do you think? What do you think?" he cried. "The plebes are coming
to the hop!"
"What! Why!"
"That fool dude has fallen into the trap. He's coming to dance, and
bring two more plebes with him. Oh, say, oh say!"
The whole yearling class knew of it a few moments later when the
companies fell in for parade. And the wildest hilarity resulted.
"A plebe at the hop! A plebe at the hop!" was the cry. "A plebe without
a soul to dance with him. Oh! but won't there be fun."
There was indeed to be fun; the yearlings would have thought so if they
could have seen Chauncey and read his thoughts. Oh, yes, there was fun.
But the question was, who was to enjoy it?
Chauncey, when he reached his own tent, found Mark standing in front of
it; and Mark was dancing about with excitement, too.
"Did you get them?" he cried.
"Yes, I did, ye know, and--where are you going?"
Mark had started hastily down the street. He stopped long enough to
shove a note into his friend's hand and give a warning word as to
secrecy; then he turned and was gone.
"Read it! Read it!" was echoing in Chauncey's ears.
He did; and this was what he read:
"DEAR MR. MALLORY: I am writing this in great haste.
Come over to see me at once; things are coming out
beautifully. Did you get the extra invitations?
"Your friend,
"GRACE FULLER."
And Chauncey nodded his head in delight, gave vent to an extra "bah
Jove," and then dived into his tent to talk it over with the others.
What the others had to say is of little moment; the all important person
was Mark, and Mark was hurrying over to the hotel, keeping step to the
tune of the band that was just then marching across the parade ground
at the head of the battalion.
He found Grace waiting for him.
"You got the invitations?" she inquired.
"Yes, Chauncey did," responded the other, laughing.
"I told you," said the girl, "that Corporal Spencer would do it. I knew
his handwriting on the envelope at once, and I was sure that he was in
the plot to fool Mr. Chauncey. And I'd just love to outwit him, too."
"You say you were successful?" inquired Mark.
For answer Grace Fuller presented three dance cards, at which Mark
glanced with amazement and delight indescribable.
"Why, they're full!" he cried. "You've gotten some one for every dance!"
"Yes," she said, laughing gleefully as she went over the names with him.
"I put your names over the top, you and Mr. Dewey and Mr. Chauncey--that
last name of his is too long to say. And I could have filled a dozen
just as well, only you said that you three were the only ones who cared
for dancing. I hope you all dance well. Mr. Dewey looks as if he might;
and our Fifth Avenue friend I'm sure is a perfect sylph. I think you do
everything gracefully."
"I hope you have a chance to find out," laughed Mark. "I hope you have
put yourself down on my card."
"I have put you down for the very first dance," said she, simply. "You
told me to fix it all the way I liked."
"But who are the other girls?" inquired Mark. "I haven't met any of
them."
"You will in plenty of time. I'll introduce you to them. They're all
friends of mine; you see, I know nearly every one about the post. And
I've picked all the very prettiest and nicest girls of them all, too."
"And arranged them in order of merit," added Mark, slyly glancing at his
own card, whereat the girl shook her fan at him.
"But tell me," he continued, in perplexity, after a few moments' pause,
"how did you ever manage to get so many girls into the conspiracy? Why,
I had no idea that one-tenth as many cared anything about plebes."
"I used a little diplomacy," laughed Grace. "I made myself as charming
as I could. I found two, three in fact, whose brothers are plebes, and
one whose brother will be next year. I think most of the girls really
sympathize with the plebes, and then, too, I'm sure all of them like to
tease. Did you ever know one who did not? And this will make the
yearlings fairly wild. But the chief reason I urged I can't tell to you;
you wouldn't like it."
"Why not?"
"It would make you conceited, as you say. You must know--you ought to
if you don't--that you're a regular hero among West Point girls. In the
first place, every one knows how you saved me; and then all of them saw
you the other day stop that runaway. You're famous, besides, as the
boldest plebe that ever came here; the yearlings are the laughingstock
of the place because of you. And that makes you a sort of romantic
creature, a Sir Galahad in disguise. To dance with you is a whole fairy
tale."
Mark laughed heartily over this description, which he chose to consider
exaggerated. But whatever might be the cause of Grace Fuller's success,
he was heartily and undisguisedly delighted at the success itself. Here
were three dance cards, one for each of the conspirators; and all of
them were full, which meant that there were a score or more of girls who
had pledged themselves to join in that plot.
It was a triumph indeed, and Mark thanked Grace for it most heartily.
And when he left the hotel and hurried over to camp again, his chuckles
of delight were audible and numerous.