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Dick Prescott's Second Year at West Point, a novel by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 13. In Close Arrest |
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_ CHAPTER XIII. IN CLOSE ARREST Ever since Greg Holmes first came to West Point he had been learning the repose and the reserve of the trained soldier. Yet if ever his face betrayed utter abandonment to amazement it was now. Cadet Holmes gazed at his chum in open-mouthed wonder. "By and by," uttered Greg fretfully, "You'll tell me the meaning of this joke, and why Mr. Unwine should be in it, too." It was several minutes before Prescott turned around again. When he did there was a furious glare in his eyes. "Greg, old chum! This is no joke. You heard Unwine. He was delivering an official order, not carrying an April-fool package." "Well, then, what does it all mean?" demanded Greg stolidly, for he began to feel dazed. "But, first of all, old ramrod, aren't you going to get ready to fall in for dinner formation?" Mechanically, wearily, Dick obeyed the suggestion. As he did so he managed to tell the story of the section room to horrified Greg. "See here," muttered Cadet Holmes energetically, "you didn't do anything in the cheating line. Every fellow in the corps will know that. So you'll have to set your wits at work to find the real explanation of the thing. How could that paper have gotten in with your handkerchief?" "I don't know," replied Dick, shaking his head hopelessly. "Well, you've got to find out, son, and that right quick! There isn't a moment to be lost! You didn't cheat---you wouldn't know how do a deliberately dishonest thing. But that reply won't satisfy the powers that be. You've got to get your answer ready, and do it with a rush." "Perhaps you can also suggest where the rush should start," observed Prescott. "Yes; I've got to suggest everything that is going to be done, I reckon," muttered Greg, resting a chum's loyal hand on Dick's shoulder. "Old ramrod, you're too dazed to think of anything, and I'm nearly as badly off myself. Say, did anyone, to your knowledge, have your handkerchief?" Cadet Richard Prescott wheeled like a flash. His face had gone white again; he stared as though at a terrifying ghost. "By the great horn spoon, Greg-----" "Good! You're getting roused. Now, out with it! "There were a lot of us standing about in the area, a little before time for the math. sections to start off." "Yes? And some other fellow handled your handkerchief?" "Bert Dodge found himself without one, and asked me for mine, to wipe a smear of black from the back of his hand." "Which hand?" "The left." "It doesn't really matter which hand," Greg pursued, "but I asked to make sure that your mind is working." "Oh, my mind is working," uttered Dick vengefully. "But what else happened about that handkerchief? "Dodge used it, then started to tuck it into his own blouse. I grinned and reminded him that the handkerchief would fit better inside my blouse." "And then?" "Just then the call sounded, and we had to jump. Dodge handed me back the handkerchief with a swift apology, and raced away to join his section." "And you?" "I tucked the handkerchief in my blouse." "Now, do some hard thinking," insisted Holmes. "Did you take that handkerchief out again until the unlucky time just after you had turned away from the board after explaining in math.?" Dick remained silent, while the clock in the room ticked off the seconds. "I am sure I did not," he replied firmly. "No; that was the next time that I took my handkerchief out." "Huh!" muttered Greg. "We've got our start. And it won't be far to the end, either. Cheer up, old man!" At that instant the call for formation sounded. The young men were ready and turned to leave the room on the jump. As they did so, Greg muttered in a low tone: "Say nothing, but hold up your head and smile. Don't let anyone face you down. Not ten fellows in the corps will even guess that you could possibly be guilty of anything mean!" Wouldn't they? West Point cadets have such an utter contempt for anything savoring of cheating or lying that the mere suspicion is often enough to make them hold back. As the cadets moved to their places in the formations scores of cadets passed Prescott. Short as the time had been, the news was already flying through the corps. Usually Dick had a score of greetings as made his way to his place in line. Today dozen cadets who had been among his friends seemed not to see him. Dick recoiled, inwardly, as though from a stinging blow in the face. None of his comrades meant to be cruel. But most of them wanted to make sure that the seemingly reliable charge was not true. They must wait. Utterly dejected, Prescott marched to dinner. On his way back to barracks a new and overwhelming thought came to him. Laura Bentley and her mother, and Belle Meade were due at the hotel the next afternoon, and he and Greg had arranged to drag the girls to the Saturday-night hop. "Greg, I can't leave quarters," muttered Dick huskily, as he threw himself down at his desk and began to write rapidly. "You'll have to attend to sending this telegram for me." "On the jump!" assented Greg, The telegram was addressed to Laura Bentley, and read: "Don't come to West Point tomorrow. My letter will explain." "I'll send it before the drawing lesson," Greg uttered, and vanished. Confined to quarters in close arrest, Cadet Prescott put in more than two miserable hours endeavoring to get that letter written. But he couldn't get it penned. Then a knock came the door, and a telegram was handed in. It read: "Wife and girls have left for shopping trip in New York. Don't know where to reach them." It was signed by Dr. Bentley. The yellow paper fluttered from Prescott's hands to the floor. Mechanically he picked it up and carried it to his study table. "I can't stop them," he muttered dismally. "Nor shall I be out of close arrest by that time, either. There's nothing I can do. I can't even see them---and I've been looking forward to this for months!" Again Dick Prescott buried his head in his arms at the study table. To have Laura come here at the time when he was in the deepest disgrace that a cadet may face! Greg came back to find his chum pacing the floor in misery. "Well, it can't be helped," muttered Holmes philosophically. "Of course you and Anstey can drag the girls to Cullum." "Surely," muttered Holmes listlessly, "if the girls would go at all under such circumstances." "I've made their trip a mockery and a bitter disappointment," groaned Dick. "No, you haven't ramrod," retorted Greg. "Fate may be to blame, but you can't be held accountable for what you didn't do. Have no fear. I'll see to the ladies tomorrow afternoon. But I'm a pile more interested in knowing what is to be done in your case. The superintendent and the K.C. may see the absurdity of this whole thing against you, and order your arrest ended." "But that won't clear me, Greg, and you know it. There would still be the suspicion in the corps, and---O Greg!---I can't endure that suspicion." "Pshaw, old ramrod, you won't have to, very long. We'll bust this whole suspicion higher than any kite ever flew. See here, Dodge is responsible for your humiliation, and we'll drag it all out of him, if we have to tie him up by the thumbs!" A knock at the door, and Anstey entered. "I really couldn't get here before, old ramrod. But I'd cut you in a minute if I thought it really necessary to come here and tell you that I don't believe any charge of dishonor against you, Prescott, could possibly be true." "It's mighty pleasant to have every fellow who feels that way come and say so," muttered Dick gratefully, as he thrust out his hand. Another knock at the door. Cadet Prescott must report at once at the office of the K.C. Down the stairs trudged Dick, across the area, and into the office of the commandant of cadets. "I want to know, Mr. Prescott," declared that officer, "whether you can throw any added light in regard to the occurrence in Captain Abbott's section room this morning." Dick had to deliberate, swiftly, as to whether he should say anything about having loaned Mr. Dodge his handkerchief briefly. "I reckon I must speak of it," decided the unhappy cadet. "I mean to have Dodge summoned, if I'm tried, so I may as well speak of it now." That, and other things, Dick stated. The K.C. listened gravely. It was plain from the officer's manner that he believed Prescott was going to have difficulty in establishing his innocence. "That is all, Mr. Prescott," said the K.C. finally. Dick saluted and returned to his room. In the few minutes that had elapsed, Anstey had done much. In the room were a dozen yearlings who were known to be among Dick's best friends. All shock his hand, assuring him that nothing could shake their faith in him. It was comforting, but that was all. "You see, old ramrod," muttered Greg, when the callers had left, "there are enough who believe in you. Now, you've got to justify that faith by hammering this charge into nothingness. Someone has committed a crime---a moral crime anyway. In my own mind Dodge is the criminal but I'm not yet prepared to prove it." In the meantime Cadet Albert Dodge was over in the K.C.'s office, undergoing a rigid questioning. Dodge freely admitted the episode of handkerchief borrowing but denied any further knowledge. When Bert returned to barracks he was most bitter against Dick. To all who would listen to him Dodge freely stated his opinion of a man who would seek to shield his own wrong-doing by throwing suspicion on another. "There were plenty who saw me borrow the handkerchief," contended Dodge stormily. "Whoever saw me take it also saw me return it. I'll defy any man to state, under oath, that I returned more than the handkerchief." "How did the smear happen to be on your hand?" asked Dunstan, who, besides belonging to the same mathematics section with Prescott was also a warm personal friend. Bert hesitated, looked uneasy, then replied: "How about the smear? Why---I don't know It may have come from a match." "Yes, what about that smear? How did it come there?" cried Greg, when Dunstan repeated Dodge's words. Through Greg's mind, for hours after that, the question insistently intruded itself: "How about that smear?" Yet the question seemed to lead to nothing. The next morning, Saturday, it was known, throughout cadet barracks, that a general court-martial order for Prescott would be published that afternoon. On the one o'clock train from New York came Mrs. Bentley, Laura and Belle. They entered the bus at the station, and were driven up, across the plain, to the hotel. After dinner, the girls waited in pleasant expectancy for Dick and Greg to send up their cards. Greg's card came up, alone. Anstey was back in quarters with Dick. _ |
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