THE RESULT AT THE HOP.
Every one goes to hops promptly on time at West Point. In select society
it is the thing nowadays to go late everywhere, so Chauncey assured his
friends. But at the academy relentless tattoo sounds on hop-nights at
half-past nine as usual. The cadets have to be in line at camp five
minutes later. And so, anxious to dance all they can, everybody who
intends to dance is on hand by the hour of eight.
The dances were held, in Mark's day, in the academy building, in two big
rooms on the second floor. Those rooms are used as examination rooms;
luckless and frightened candidates were sent there to show what they do
not know. This evening, however, it was gay and festive.
The West Point Military Band, in full plumage, occupied a small platform
and dispensed an overture previous to the first waltz. The walls were
gay with flags and an abundance of decorations in general. And the floor
and seats about the room were still more beautifully adorned.
A person who "knew the ropes," who was familiar with hops and hop ways,
would not have failed to notice that there was something unusual going
on that night, that everybody seemed to be waiting for something. Cadets
talking to damsels could not keep their eyes from straying to the
doorway, while at the doorway sauntered about, waiting, a considerable
group of anxious cadets. There was one thought in the minds of all of
them.
"Will they come? Oh, say, will they come?"
And then, suddenly, a ripple of excitement ran around the room; cadets
crowded to the doorway, girls strained their necks to get a view, the
leader of the band in all his finery nearly let his orchestra run wild
in his interest. And across the floor rushed Corporal Spencer, hop
manager, and grasped his friend Jasper by the arm.
"They're here! They're here, man!" he gasped. "Oh, say!"
And the next instant the bandmaster waved his baton, the music crashed
all at once, and the first dance was begun.
A dance with plebes present!
To say that the three, Mark, Chauncey and "B'gee," were the cynosure of
all eyes would not begin to express the situation. Every one's glance
was fairly glued upon them. Girls forgot their dance partners, cadets
stopped still in their tracks. Not a soul offered to dance. Not a soul
did anything but stare at those three idiots.
They did not seem the least bit ill at ease. All of them seemed quite
in their element. Their attire was surely immaculate; Chauncey was
fairly radiant in an elegantly handled monocle. And they did not seem to
notice the stares, intentionally rude, that came from the cadets. They
knew just what to do, and they did it, while the whole room watched and
gasped.
Grace Fuller, belle of West Point, sat in one corner of the room, a
perfect vision of loveliness indescribable. About her were half a dozen
cadets. Her stern old father sat nearby, with Mrs. Fuller beside him.
And toward that group those idiotic plebes were going!
The yearlings gasped in horror, bit their lips in vexation. For Judge
Fuller arose from his seat and welcomed Mark Mallory heartily; his wife
did likewise. The three sat down and began to talk to them and to Grace,
at which the cadets with that party went off in horror and amazement.
Well, there was no use staring any more, for the three plebes were safe
behind that bulwark; and vexed and aggravated, the cadets went their
ways and began to dance. They kept their eyes on the three, however.
They saw Mrs. Fuller rise suddenly and cross the room, with Chauncey and
Dewey at her side. And then what must she do but introduce them to two
girls? Oh!
This was terrible! Bull Harris, Mark's old enemy, was in the very act of
asking one of the girls, a tall, stately creature clad in pink, if he
might have the pleasure, etc.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Harris," said she. "But I'm already engaged for this
dance."
And then up stepped Mrs. Fuller.
"Miss Evens," she said, "allow me to present Mr. Dewey, with whom I
believe you have promised to dance."
A moment later, to the indescribable horror of the cadets in the place,
three plebes set out upon that floor to dance, each of them leading
girls with whom to dance was a privilege that came only to the best. And
how those plebes did dance! The yearlings had never seen better; they
could not but acknowledge that. For the plebes were on their mettle
then, and if ever they danced in their lives, they did then, radiant
with triumph, swept away by the excitement distributing benignant smiles
upon every one.
There is only one heaven that lasts an eternity. All others, that dance
included, have their finish. The three plebes returned the delighted
girls to their seats, and the cadets, excusing themselves from every
one, rushed out into the hall, there to hold an angry and excited
consultation. For this was indeed a desperate, a terrible thing!
Evidently three girls, relying upon their charms, were going to insult
the corps wantonly, dance with some beastly plebes.
"They shall pay for it!" was the cry. "Not a man shall dance with them.
Cut them dead!"
But if the yearlings supposed that Mark and his friends proposed to
dance with just three girls all that night, they were woefully and badly
mistaken. The fever had spread in the interim; introductions had been
going on. When the yearlings returned, behold, Mark was making himself
charming to another girl, and Chauncey, perfectly in his element at
last, was busily engaged in describing the streets of Paris to a group
of half a dozen!
"Cut them all!" whispered the yearlings.
Well, they tried it. To be brief, Grace and the other two danced with no
one that next dance. But three more girls went down on the blacklist,
and the plebes' triumph was yet greater.
"We'll leave 'em no one to dance with," chuckled Mark. "We'll send them
all home!"
The next dance was a lanciers. Three couples joined the groups upon the
floor and lo and behold, from the spot where the plebes stood every
cadet fell away with obvious meaning. The rudeness was seen by every one
in the room; it was the worst insult of all. The three couples stood
lost for a moment; and then, suddenly, red with indignation, the
dignified judge sprang to his feet.
He and his daughter made up that set. And once more the yearlings fairly
ground their teeth with rage.
They did not know what to do then. They were fairly baffled. The plebes
had entered the trap--and here was the result!
"Oh, if we only hadn't been fools enough to send those invitations!" was
their thought.
Meanwhile dance after dance passed, girl after girl was "out of it."
There is always a scarcity of girls at a place like West Point. There
are always sure to be more cadets at every hop than there are partners,
and with those three vile plebes sending three to the wall every
dance--and the prettiest and most liked ones, too--things soon began to
arrive at a crisis. It looks funny to see the pretty girls sitting and
the ugly ones dancing; and every one began to see that the plebes were
having decidedly the best of the bargain. They were dancing with whom
they pleased; most of the cadets were soon unable to dance at all,
finding it necessary to hang about the doorway and discuss the
situation.
It was a distinct triumph for the plebes; even the yearlings could not
deny that, and that made them all the angrier.
Ten dances had passed; by actual count there were thirty girls "out of
it," and something less than twenty still left to the cadets. And then
the matter came to a head.
Cadet Lieutenant Wright, a first class man, captain of the football
team, and a hop manager for his class, caused the trouble. Urged by all
his desperate classmates and urged still more by the spectacle of Mark's
dancing with a certain sweet creature who had hitherto devoted all her
energies to making herself charming to him, he stepped forward in the
middle of the dance and with his badge of manager upon his coat, touched
Mark upon the arm.
Mark halted abruptly. The whole room stared.
"Mr. Mallory," said the lieutenant, "the cadets who are giving this hop
request you to leave the floor."
Mark's face turned white; he bit his lip savagely to choke down his
anger, and when he spoke at last his voice was hard and calm.
"The cadets who are giving this hop," he said, drawing the invitation
from under his coat, "invited me by this to come. I shall consider your
remark, sir, as a personal insult, for which you will be called upon to
answer at Fort Clinton."
"And do you refuse to leave?"
"As an invited guest and a cadet of this academy I most decidedly do."
And the whole room heard him, too.
Wright returned to his classmates; a brief consultation was held, ending
in his stepping across the room and speaking to the leader of the band.
The music stopped abruptly.
The hop was over for the night.
Three heartily delighted plebes escorted three heartily delighted
damsels home that night. And wild indeed was the hilarity of them and of
the Banded Seven.
"Victory! Victory!" was the cry. "We danced and we have conquered!"