Home > Authors Index > H. Irving Hancock > Dick Prescott's Third Year at West Point > This page
Dick Prescott's Third Year at West Point, a novel by H. Irving Hancock |
||
Chapter 21. The Man Moving In A Dark Room |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER XXI. THE MAN MOVING IN A DARK ROOM May came, and, with the gorgeous blossoms of that month, Dick Prescott left the hospital. He was able to walk fairly well, and was returned to study and recitations, though excused from all drills or any form of military duty. Not quite all the old erectness of carriage was there, though Dick hoped and prayed daily that it would return. He had been cautioned to take the best of care of himself. He had been warned that he was still on probation, so far as his physical condition was concerned. "A sudden bad wrench, and you might undo all that has been done for you so far," was the surgeons' hint. So Prescott, though permitted to march with his sections to recitations, and to fall in at the meal formations, was far from feeling reassured as to his ability to remain in the service. He was to have a physical examination after the academic year was finished, and other examinations, if needed, during the summer encampment. And well enough the young man knew this meant that, if he was found to be permanently disqualified in body, he would be dropped from the cadet corps as soon as the decision was reached. "Do you know," muttered Greg vengefully, "Haynes had the cheek to come here and ask after you?" "Did he?" inquired Dick. "Yes; he pretended to be sorry about your accident." "Perhaps he really was," returned Prescott. "What? After his trick in pushing you from the train?" "I hope he has lived to regret that," said Dick quietly. "You're not quite a lunatic, old ramrod, are you?" asked Greg wonderingly. "Oh, I've heard of fellows being bad, and then afterward repenting," murmured Dick. "Perhaps this has been the case with Haynes. You see, Greg, lying there in hospital, day after day, I had time to do a lot of thinking. Perhaps I learned to be just a trifle less severe in judging other fellows." Anstey visited as often as he could. He and Greg did all they could to coach Prescott over the hard work that he had missed. "There isn't going to be anything in the academic work to bother you," promised Anstey. "You'll have lots of chance to pull through in the general review." "It's only the physical side of the case that gives me any uneasiness," replied Dick. "And I'm not worrying about that, either." "I should say not, suh!" replied the Virginian with emphasis. "I had a chance to talk with Captain Goodwin, one day, without being too fresh, and he told me, old ramrod, that your work in athletics did a lot to save your back from faring worse. He said you were built with unusual strength in the back, and that many a hard tug in the football scrimmages had made you strong where you most need to be strong now." "Now let's get back to work with our old ramrod, Anstey," cautioned Greg. "Surely, suh, with all my heart," nodded Anstey. "But by day after to-morrow he'll have caught up with us, and be coaching us along for the general review." The hard work that Dick had done through March and in early April now stood him in excellent stead. He had, really, only to make sure of the work that he had missed while at hospital. As to reviewing the earlier work of the second term, there was not the slightest need. By the time that the general review was half through it was plain enough that Dick Prescott's class standing was going to be better than it had ever been before. In fact, he was slated to make the middle of this class. "I'll be above the middle of the class next year, if the fates allow me to remain on with the corps," Dick promised himself and his friends. "Oh, you'll be in the Army, suh, until you're retired for age, suh," predicted Anstey with great gravity. The latter part of May passed swiftly for the busy cadets. The first class men were dreaming of their commissions in the more real Army beyond West Point; the present third classmen were looking forward with intense longing to the furlough that would begin as soon as they had stepped over the line into the second class. The new plebes were looking forward to summer encampment with a mixture of longing and dread---the latter emotion on account of the hazing that might come to them in the life under the khaki-colored canvas. As the days slipped by, Prescott began to have more and more of his old, firm step. He began to feel sure, too, that the surgeons would have no more fault to find with his condition. "Why, I could ride a horse in fine shape to-day," declared Prescott, on one of the last days in May. "Could you?" demanded Cadet Holmes quizzically. "Perhaps I had better amend that bit of brag," laughed Dick. "What I meant was that I could ride as well, to-day, as I ever did." "Don't be in a hurry to try it, old ramrod," advised Greg with a frown. "Be satisfied that you're doing well enough as it is. Don't be in a hurry to joggle up a spine that has had about as much as it could stand." "I'll bet you I ride in the exhibition riding before the Board of Visitors," proposed Prescott earnestly. "I shall be mightily disappointed in your judgment if you attempt it without first having received a positive order," retorted Greg. "Don't be a chump, old ramrod." The exhibition before the Board of Visitors to which Dick had referred is one of the annual features of West Point life. The Board is appointed by the President of the United States. The Board goes to West Point a few days before graduation and thoroughly "inspects" the Academy and all its workings. The Board of Visitors impressively attends graduation exercises. Afterwards the Board writes its report on the Military Academy, and suggests anything that occurs to the members as being an improvement on the way things are being already conducted by Army officers who know their business. One man in the second class was going badly to pieces in these closing days of the academic year. That man was turnback Haynes. His trouble was that he had allowed a private and senseless grudge to get uppermost in his mind. He lived more for the gratification of that grudge than he did for the realization of his own ambitions. "This confounded Prescott has escaped me, so far, though his last experience was a narrow squeak. I've had two tries---and, by the great blazes! the third time is said never to fail. He's in such bad shape now that it won't take much of a push to put him over the edge of physical condition. But how can I do it?" So much thought did the turnback give to this problem that he fell further and further behind in general review. He was moving rapidly toward the bottom of the class. Worse, he began to dream of his grudge by night. In his dreams Haynes always reviewed his hopes of successful villainy, or else found himself trying to put through some new bit of profound rascality. Always the turnback awoke from such dreams to find himself in a cold sweat. "I'll hit the right scheme---the real chance---yet!" the plotter told himself, as he tossed restlessly at night, while his roommate, Cadet Pierson, slept soundly the sleep of the just and decent. "Haynesy, what's the matter with you?" demanded Pierson one morning, as he watched his roommate going toward the washstand. "What do you mean?" demanded Haynes, with the pallor of guilt on his face for a moment. "Why, you always look so confoundedly ragged when you get up mornings. You used to wake up looking fresh and rosy. Now, you look like the ghost of an evil deed." "Huh!" growled Haynes, plunging his hands into the water. "I'm all right." "I wish I could believe you!" muttered the puzzled Pierson under his breath. "It's near time to get Prescott, if I'm going to," Haynes told himself a dozen times a day. In fact, the matter preyed so constantly on his mind that the turnback walked through each day in a perpetual though subdued state of nervous fever. The next night Pierson awoke with a start. At first the cadet couldn't understand why he should feel so creepy. He was a good sleeper, and there had been no noise. Hadn't there, though? It came again. And now Cadet Pierson rubbed his eyes and half rose on his cot, leaning his head on one hand. Now, with intense interest, he watched the proceedings of his roommate, turnback Haynes, who was up and moving stealthily about the room, every action being clearly revealed in the bright moonlight that was streaming through the windows. _ |
||