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Dick Prescott's Second Year at West Point, a novel by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 12. Under A Fearful Charge |
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_ CHAPTER XII. UNDER A FEARFUL CHARGE Cadet Corporal Dodge took his new appointment as a triumph in revenge. Of late he had been growing even less popular. He determined to be a martinet with the men in ranks under him. He made the mistake that all petty, senseless tyrants do. The great disciplinarian is never needlessly a tyrant. * * * * * * * * The summer in camp passed quickly after July had gone. In all, Miss Griffin made four visits to West Point that summer. Greg became her favored and eager escort, to the disappointment of fifty men who would have been glad to take his place. Both Cadet Holmes and Mr. Griffin's very pretty sister kept up their attitudes of laughing challenge to each other throughout the summer. It was impossible to see that either had scored a deep impression on the other. Not even to his chum did Greg confide whether Miss Griffin had caught his heart. Mr. Griffin, her brother, could hardly venture a guess to himself as to whether his sister cared for the tall and manly looking Holmes. But when Miss Griffin had reached the end of her last summer visit to West Point she told Greg that she would not be there again for some time to come. "At least," asked Greg, "you'll be here again when the winter hops start?" "I cannot say," was all the reply Miss Adele Griffin would make. "In three weeks she goes back to the seminary in Virginia," said Griff, when Greg spoke to him about the matter. "Dell won't see West Point before next summer. Our people are not rich enough to keep Dell traveling all the time." Whether Greg was crestfallen at the news no one knew. Greg had never believed, anyway, in wearing his heart on his sleeve---"just for other folks to stick pins in it, you know," was his explanation. There came the day when the furloughed second class marched over to camp. Very quickly after that all classes were back in cadet barracks, and the charming summer of Mars had given place to the hard fall, winter and spring of the academic grind. The return to studies found both Greg and Dick forced to do some extra hard work. Mathematics for this year went "miles ahead" of anything that the former Gridley boys had encountered in High School. Had they been able to pursue this branch of study in the more leisurely and lenient way of the colleges, both young men might have stood well. As it was, after the first fortnight Greg went to the "goats," or the lowest section in mathematics, while Dick, not extremely better off, hung only in the section above the goat line. As the fall hops came on Greg went to about three out of every four. "A fellow can bone until his brain is nothing but a mess of bone dust," he complained. "Dick, old chum, you'd better go to hops, too." Dick went to only one, in October. He stagged it, whereas Greg often dragged. But Prescott saw no girl there who looked enough like Laura Bentley to interest him. His standing in class interested him far more than hops at which a certain Gridley girl could not be present. Laura had written him that she and Belle might be at a hop early in December. "I'll wait and look forward to it," decided Dick. But he said nothing, even to Greg. Holmes was showing an ability to be interested in too many different girls, Prescott decided. But it may be that Holmes, knowing that Griffin corresponded with his pretty, black-eyed little sister, may have been intentionally furnishing subjects for the news that was despatched to a Virginia seminary. "Come on, old ramrod," urged Greg one Saturday night, as he gave great heed to his dressing. "You'll bone yourself dry, staying here all the time with Smith's conic sections. Drop that dry math. rot and stag it with me over at Cullum tonight. You can take math. up again after chapel tomorrow." "Thank you," replied Prescott, turning around from the study table at which he was seated. "I don't care much for the social whirl while there's any doubt about the January exams. It would be no pleasure to go over to Cullum. There'll be real satisfaction if I can look forward to better marking this coming week." Dick spent his time until taps at the study table. But when he closed the book it was with a sigh of satisfaction. "If I can only go through a few more nights as easily as I have tonight, I'll soon astound myself by maxing it" (making one of the highest marks), he told himself. "I think I'm beginning to see real light in conic sections, but I'll have the books out again tomorrow afternoon." * * * * * * * * "Well?" challenged Holmes gayly, as he entered their room after the hop. "I believe I'm going to turn over a new leaf and max it some," grinned Prescott. "Don't!" expostulated Greg, with a look of mock alarm. The daily marks were not posted until the end of the academic week, but Prescott knew, when Monday's recitation in mathematics was over, that he had found new favor in the eyes of Captain Abbott, the instructor. On Tuesday again he was sure that he had landed another high mark. Greg caught some of the fire of his chum's example, and he, too, began to bone so furiously that he decided to drop the hops for the time. Wednesday again Dick marched back in mathematics section with a consciousness that he had not fumbled once in explaining the problem that he had been ordered to set forth the blackboard. "I hear that you're going to graduate ahead of time, and be appointed professor in math.," grinned Greg. "Well, I'm at least beginning to find out that some things are better than hops," laughed Dick happily. "Greg, if I can kill math. to my satisfaction this year, I shan't have another doubt about being able to get through and graduate here!" It was the end of November by this time, and Dick, on Thursday of this successful week, received a letter to the effect that Laura and Belle would arrive at West Point on Saturday afternoon at one o'clock. The news nearly broke up Prescott's three hours of study that Thursday evening. However, he fought off the feeling of excitement and hampering delight. When Dick marched with his section into mathematics Friday morning he felt a calm confidence that he would keep up the average of his fine performance for the week. "Mr. Furlong, Mr. Dunstan, Mr. Prescott and Mr. Gray, go to the blackboards," ordered Captain Abbott. "The other gentlemen will recite from their seats." Stepping nimbly over to the blackboard, in one corner of which his name had been written, Dick picked up the chalk, setting down the preliminaries of the problem assigned to him. Then his chalk ran nimbly along over the first lines of his demonstration. At last he stopped. Captain Abbott, who was generally accredited with possessing several pairs of eyes, noted that Mr. Prescott had halted. For some moments the young man went anxiously over what he had already written. At last he turned around, facing the instructor, and saluted. "Permission to erase, sir?" requested Prescott., Captain Abbott nodded his assent. Picking up the eraser, Dick carefully erased the last two lines that he had set down. Then, as though working under a new inspiration, he went ahead setting down line after line of the demonstration of this difficult problem. Only once did he halt, and then for not more than thirty seconds. Dunstan went through a halting explanation of his problem. Then Captain Abbott called: "Mr. Prescott!" Taking up the short pointer, Dick rattled off the statement of the problem. Then he plunged into his demonstration, becoming more and more confident as he progressed. When he had finished Captain Abbott asked three or four questions. Dick answered these without hesitation. "Excellent," nodded the gratified instructor. "That is all, Mr. Prescott." As Dick turned to step to his seat he pulled his handkerchief from the breast of his blouse and wiped the chalk from his hands. All unseen by himself a narrow slip of white paper fluttered from underneath his handkerchief to the floor. "Mr. Prescott," called Captain Abbott, "will you bring me that piece of paper from the floor?" Dick obeyed without curiosity, then turned again and gained his seat. The instructor, in the meantime, had called upon Mr. Pike. While Pike was reciting, haltingly, Captain Abbott turned over the slip of paper on his desk, glancing at it with "one of his pairs of eyes." Anyone who had been looking at the instructor at that moment would have noted a slight start and a brief change of color in the captain's face. But he said nothing until all of the cadets had recited and had been marked. "Mr. Prescott!" the instructor then called Dick rose, standing by his seat. "Mr. Prescott, did you work out your problem for today unaided?" "I had a little aid, last night, sir, from Mr. Anstey." "But you had no aid in the section room today?" "No, sir," replied Dick, feeling much puzzled. "You understand my question, Mr. Prescott?" "I think so, sir." "In putting down your demonstration on the blackboard today you had no aid whatever?" "None whatever, sir." "At one stage, Air. Prescott, you hesitated, waited, then asked permission to erase? After that erasure you went on with hardly a break to the end of the blackboard work." "Yes, sir." "And, at the time you hesitated, before securing leave to erase, you did not consult any aid in your work?" "No, sir." "This piece of paper," continued Captain Abbott, lifting the slip, "fell from your handkerchief when you drew it out, just as you left the blackboard. That was why I asked you to bring it to me, Mr. Prescott. This paper contains all the salient features of your demonstration. Can you explain this fact, Mr. Prescott?" The astounded yearling felt as though his brain were reeling. He went hot and cold, all in a flash. In the same moment the other men of the section sat as though stunned. All lying, deceit and fraud are so utterly detested at West Point that to a cadet it is incomprehensible how a comrade can be guilty of such an offence. It seemed to Prescott like an age ere he could master his voice. "I never saw that paper, sir, before you asked me to pick it up!" "But it dropped from under your handkerchief, Mr. Prescott. Can you account for that?" "I cannot, sir." Captain Abbott looked thoughtfully, seriously, at Cadet Richard Prescott. The instructor had always liked this young man, and had deemed him worthy of all trust. Yet what did this evidence show? In the meantime the cadets sat staring the tops of their desks, or the covers of their books. The gaze of each man was stony; so were his feelings. Prescott, the soul of honor, caught in such a scrape as this! But there must be some sensible and satisfactory explanation, thought at least half of the cadets present. "Have I permission to ask a question, sir?" asked Dick in an almost hollow voice. "Proceed, Mr. Prescott." "Is the paper in my handwriting, sir?" "It is not," declared the instructor. "Most of it is in typewriting, with two figures drawn crudely in ink. There are three or four typewriting machines on the post to which a cadet may find easy access. You may examine this piece of paper, Mr. Prescott, if you think that will aid you to throw any light on the matter." Dick stepped forward, lurching slightly. Most of the silent men of the section took advantage of this slight distraction to shift their feet to new positions. The noise grated in that awful silence. How Dick's hand shook as he reached for the paper. At first his eyes were too blurred for him to make out clearly what was on the paper. But at last he made it all out. "I am very sorry, sir. This paper tells me nothing." Captain Abbott's gaze was fixed keenly on the young man's face. White-faced Prescott, shaking and ghastly looking, showed all the evidences of detected, overwhelmed guilt. Innocent men often do the same. "You may return the paper and take your seat, Mr. Prescott." As Prescott turned away he made a powerful effort to hold his head erect, and to look fearlessly before him. It was a full minute, yet, before the bugle would sound through the Academic Building to end the recitation period. Dick was not the only one in this section room who found the wait intolerable. But at last the bugle notes were heard. "The section is dismissed," announced Captain Abbott. Dunstan, the section marcher, formed his men and led them thence. No man in the section held his head more erect than did Prescott, who was conscious of his own absolute innocence in the affair. Yet, when he reached his room, and sank down at his study table, a groan escaped Dick Prescott. His head fell forward, cushioned in his folded arms. Thus Holmes found him on entering the room. "Why, old ramrod, what on earth is the matter?" gasped Greg. A groan from his chum was the only answer. At that moment another step, brisk and official, was heard in the corridor. There was a short rap on the door, after which Unwine, cadet officer of the day, wearing his red sash and sword, stepped into the room. "Mr. Prescott, you are ordered in close arrest in your quarters until further orders." "Yes, sir," huskily replied Prescott, who had struggled to his feet and now stood at attention. As Unwine wheeled, marching from the room, Dick sank again over his study table. "Dick, old ramrod," pleaded Greg terrified, "what on earth-----" "Greg," came the anguished moan, "they're going to try to fire me from West Point for a common cheat---and I'm afraid they'll do it, too!" _ |
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