Home > Authors Index > H. Irving Hancock > Dick Prescott's Second Year at West Point > This page
Dick Prescott's Second Year at West Point, a novel by H. Irving Hancock |
||
Chapter 17. "A Liar And A Coward" |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER XVII. "A LIAR AND A COWARD" Long, indeed, did the memory of that hop linger with Cadet Dick Prescott. It had come as the fitting, cheering ending of his great trouble---the hardest trouble that had assailed him, or could assail him, at the United States Military Academy. "Well, you've been vindicated, anyway," muttered Greg cheerily, one day. "So you needn't look as thoughtful as you do half of the time these present days." "Have I been vindicated, Greg?" asked Dick gravely. "What did the court say? And you're still wearing the uniform that Uncle Sam gave you, aren't you? "Vindication, Greg, means something more that a court-martial verdict of acquittal." "What more do you want?" "Greg, the verdicts of all the courts-martial sitting between here and Manila wouldn't make some of the men of this corps believe that I innocent." "G'wan!" retorted Cadet Holmes impatiently. "I see it, Greg, old chum, if you don't." "You're morbid, old ramrod!" "Greg, you know the cheery greeting, in passing, that one man here often gives another when he likes and trusts that man. Well, some of own classmates that used to give me the glad hail seem to be thinking about something else, now, when they pass me." "Who are they?" demanded Greg, his fists doubling. "You'd provoke a fight, if I told you," retorted Dick. "This isn't a matter to fight about." "Then you don't know much about fighting subjects," grumbled Cadet Holmes, as he leaned back and opened his book of everlasting mathematics. "Let me see, Greg; have you any show to get out of the goats in math.?" "I'm in hopes to get out and step into the next section above," replied Greg. "I've been working hard enough." "Then you'd better waste no thoughts on pugilism. Calculus will bring you more happiness." "Calculus was never designed to bring anyone happiness," retorted Greg sulkily. "It's a torment invented on purpose to harrow the souls of cadets. What good, any way, will calculus ever be to an officer who has a platoon of men to lead in a charge on the enemy?" This could not very well be answered, so Dick dodged the subject. "Remember the January exams., old fellow," warned Dick. "And the general review begins Monday. That will show you up, if you don't keep your nose in math. and out of books on the Queensbury rules." "Funny how Bert Dodge keeps up in mathematics, and yet takes in all the pleasures he can find," rumbled on Greg, as he turned the pages of his book, seeking what he wanted. "Dodge is in the section just under the stars, and I hear he has dreams of being in the star section after the January ordeals." "Dodge always was a rather good student at Gridley High School" rejoined Prescott. "But he never led our class there in the High School mathematics, which is baby's play compared with West Point math." "Well, he gets the marks now," sighed Dick. "I wish we could, too." The academic part of the cadet's year is divided into two halves. The first half winds up in January. During the last few weeks before the period for the winter examination, there is a general review in some of the subjects, notably in mathematics. This general review brings out all of a man's weak points in his subject. Incidentally, it should strengthen him in his weak points. Now, if, in the general review, a cadet shows sufficient proficiency in his subject, he is not required to take the examination. If he fails in the general review in mathematics, he must go up for a "writ," as a written examination is termed. And that writ is cruelly searching. If the young man fails in the "writ," he may be conditioned and required to make up his deficiencies in June. If, in June, he fails to make up all deficiencies, he is dropped from the cadet corps as being below the mental standards required of a West Point graduate. Neither Dick nor Greg stood high enough in mathematics to care to go on past January conditioned. Both felt that, with conditions extending over to the summer, they must fail in June. "I'd sooner have my funeral held tomorrow than drop out of West Point," Greg stated. Prescott, while not making that assertion, knew that it would blast his dearest hopes life if he had to go down in the academic battle. Dodge, who was so high in mathematics that he need have little fear, was circulating a good deal among his classmates these days before Christmas. "That hound, Prescott, made a slick dodge to drag me into his disgrace," Dodge declared, to those whom he thought would be interest in such remarks. "It was a clever trick! couldn't put me in disgrace, for there is no breach of regulations in borrowing a handkerchief for a moment. But Prescott made so much of that handkerchief business that it served his purpose and dragged him out safely before the court." "Do you think Prescott was really guilty of a crib?" asked one of Dodge's hearers. "I can't prove it, but I know what I think," retorted Dodge. "His effort to draw me into the row shows what kind of a fellow he is at bottom." "I'd hate to think that Prescott would really be mean enough for a crib." "Think what you like, then, of course. But a fellow guilty of one meanness might not stop at others." Dodge talked much in this vein. Cadets are not tale-bearers, and so little or none of this talk reached Dick's ears until Furlong came along, one day, in time to hear Dodge holding forth on his favorite subject. Yearling Furlong halted, eyeing Cadet Dodge sternly, keenly. "Well," demanded Dodge, "what's wrong?" "I don't know exactly," replied Furlong, with a quizzical smile. "I think, though, that the basic error lay in your ever having been born at all." Dodge tried to laugh it off as a pleasantry. He had met Furlong once, in a fight, and had no desire to be sent to cadet hospital again with blackened eyes. "I don't want to mind other people's business, Dodge," continued Furlong coolly, "but you're going a bit too far, it seems to me, in what you say about Prescott. Why should you seek to blacken the character of one of our best fellows, and the president of our class?" "Because he tried to blacken mine," retorted Dodge boldly. "He didn't. All he did, at the court-martial, was to explain the adventures of his handkerchief just before that piece of paper fell to the floor of the section room." "Wasn't that an insinuation against me?" demanded Cadet Dodge. "Not unless your character here is on such a very poor foundation that it can't stand any suspicions," replied Furlong coldly. "Now, see here, Dodge, the general review is on, and Prescott can't spare any time on private rows. After the general review is over, if I hear any more about your roasting Prescott, I'm going to call on you to go with me to Prescott's presence, and repeat your statements to his face. I don't want to stir up any needless personal trouble, Dodge, but I declare myself now as one of old ramrod's friends. Any slander against him must be backed up. I trust you will pardon my having been so explicit." Furlong turned on his heel, striding away. The cadets to whom Dodge had been talking bitterly looked at Bert curiously. A good many men in the corps would have promptly resented such remarks as Furlong's, and to the limit, by calling him out. "Queer how many friends, of some kinds, a fellow like Prescott can have," laughed Dodge sneeringly. "Not at all," spoke up one of Dodge's listeners. "Everyone always knows where Prescott stands, and he'll back up anything he says. Furlong is another man of the same stamp." With that the last speaker turned on his heel and walked away. For some days after that, Bert Dodge was more careful of his utterances. The general reviews came and passed. By sheer hard, undistracted work, both Dick and Greg succeeded in pulling through without having to go up for writs. For some reason Dodge did not do quite as well in the general review, and was forced to drop down a couple of sections. He still stood well, however, in math. In the next week after the dangerous examination period Dick Prescott began to forge upwards in mathematics. He was now in the section fourth removed from the goats, and Greg was up in the section next above the goats. On the afternoon of the Friday when the markings had been posted Dodge met Dennison, also of the yearling class. "Say, what do you think, Dodge, of Prescott beginning to shoot up through the sections toward you? He'll soon be marching at your side when math. is called." "He'll bear watching," nodded Dodge sagely. "That's what I feel about it," replied Dennison. "Prescott isn't the kind of man who can climb high in mathematics, and do it honestly," continued Dodge. "Either he has the old crib at work again, or has hit on a safer way of working crib." "Of course he has," nodded Dennison. "We ought to post the class---especially Prescott own section comrades. They can catch him, if they're sharp, and then pass the word through the class without bothering the authorities. If Prescott is doing such things he must be driven from West Point." "He will be---see if he isn't," retorted Bert sullenly. "I'm going to pass the word to the class." "And I'll post the men in the same section with him," promised Dennison. "Why not post Prescott first?" demanded a cold voice. A cadet had halted behind the pair. "Oh, you, Furlong?" snarled Dodge, turning. "Yes," replied Cadet Furlong. "And I told you, on a former occasion, what I thought about back-biters." "Be careful, Furlong!" warned Dennison angrily. "At your service, sir, any time," coolly replied Furlong, though he was a head shorter than Dennison, who was one of the big athletes of the yearling class. "But the class ought to know some truths," retorted Dodge harshly. "Here comes some of the class now," replied Furlong, as seven yearlings, on their way back from the library, turned in at the sally-port. "Tell them for a start, Dodge, and I'll listen. Hold on there, fellows. Oh, you there, Prescott? That's lucky. Dodge has some 'facts' he thinks the class ought to know, and I want you to hear them. Now, Dodge, turn around and repeat what you were just saying." There was no help for it. Dodge had to speak up, or be considered a cur that bit only in the dark. So, with a show of defiance, Dodge spoke hotly giving a very fair repetition of what he had lately said. Prescott stood by, his fists clenched, his face white, but without interrupting or making any move. "Now, state what you said, Mr. Dennison," requested Furlong coldly. Thus cornered, Dennison, too, had to state truthfully what he had just been saying. There was a pause. Some of the yearlings looked straight ahead. Others glanced curiously at the principals in this little drama of cadet life. None of them took Furlong to be anything more than the stage manager. "Have you said all you have to say, Mr. Dodge?" demanded Cadet Prescott. "Yes," flared Bert. "Have you anything that you wish to add, Mr. Dennison?" demanded Dick, wheeling upon his other foe in the corps. "Nothing more, at present," replied Dennison coolly. He realized how much bigger and more powerful he was than Dick Prescott. "Then, as for you, Mr. Dodge," continued Prescott, fixing his old-time enemy with a cold eye, "you're a liar and a coward!" Dodge doubled his fists, springing forward, but two of the yearlings caught him and dragged him back, for old ramrod's back was already turned. Dick was eyeing his other detractor. "You, Mr. Dennison," continued Prescott, "are a dirty scandal-monger, a back-biter and a source of danger to the honor of the cadet corps!" _ |
||