Dick Prescott's First Year at West Point Part 14

"Bosh!" growled Spurlock, who was holding a handkerchief to a nose that was bleeding freely.

Cadet Prescott drew himself up, his eyes flashing.

"Pardon me, sir," returned d.i.c.k. "But you know, as well as I, sir, that a lie is impossible to a cadet."

It was a hard report to get around that a cadet had told a lie. At times cadets have been known to lie, but invariably, after detection, they have been "cut" and forced out of the corps. So lying is a rare occurrence, indeed, among the cadets.

"I'll make you settle for this, anyway," sputtered Cadet Corporal Spurlock.

"Very good, sir," d.i.c.k answered resolutely.

"You'll settle at once, too, mister, or as soon as I've stopped this flow."

"Very good, sir," d.i.c.k answered again. "But if I'm not too b.j., sir, in talking at all, I'll call your attention to that clock. There is just time for you to reach your quarters before taps sound."

Spurlock glanced hastily at the clock.

"You're right, mister," he admitted. "Then you may wait until you hear from me, mister."

With that Spurlock walked quickly from the room.

d.i.c.k examined his cot and found that Spurlock had been engaged in the humorous trick of placing some two score exploded caps from target-rifle ammunition under his under sheet.

"He wanted me to jump into bed and go down plump on all those caps, and then squirm there until after taps inspection," grinned Prescott as he swiftly removed the stuff. "It would have been a tough one, too--but now I guess I have a tougher proposition on my hands."

Prescott sighed a trifle as he hastily undressed, placing his clothing according to the regulations on the subject.

Just as he had finished taps sounded on the drum outside. d.i.c.k turned off his gas, bounded into bed and lay there as the door opened and the bull's-eye lantern of the subdivision inspector flashed into the room.

"All right here, sir, or accounted for," d.i.c.k remarked to the inspector, who hastily closed the door and hurried along on his rounds.

True to the medical officer's promise Greg was discharged from hospital the following morning, and permitted to report back to full duty.

"What's this I hear, d.i.c.k, old ramrod?" Greg demanded as soon as the chums were back in quarters from breakfast. "The news is flying around fast that Mr. Spurlock is going to call you out."

"I expect that he is," d.i.c.k admitted ruefully, and then told his chum all the details of the occurrence of the night before.

"Why, that doesn't strike me as fair excuse for a fight," Greg muttered. "You explained and apologized."

"Mr. Spurlock wouldn't accept any apology."

"Just the same," argued Greg, "I don't believe you have to fight, in this case. You can refuse, anyway, until the matter has been examined into by the sc.r.a.p committee of the yearling cla.s.s. Now, in view of the fact that you offered explanation and apology, I don't believe that the yearling sc.r.a.p committee can hold you to any meeting with Mr. Spurlock this time. Let me handle this affair for you, old ramrod."

"Greg," rejoined d.i.c.k, laying an affectionate hand on his roommate's shoulder, "as long as I'm a new plebe I don't intend to try to dig out of any fight that an upper cla.s.s man demands from me. Perhaps I could get the sc.r.a.p committee to turn down Mr.

Spurlock's desire--but I don't mean to do anything of the sort. I did all that I felt I could do consistently to stop the fight. Now it has got to come off, or else it will be because Mr. Spurlock has become more reasonable."

"He'll eat you up, that big fellow," mused Greg bitterly. "Mr.

Spurlock is at least fifteen pounds heavier than you. He has had a year more of West Point gym work than you've had and he has the reputation of being pretty nearly the yearling champion in the ring."

"Of course I shall be thrashed," admitted d.i.c.k doggedly.

"However, that probably won't do me any permanent harm.

Besides, Greg, it's certain that I'll have to fight some yearling sooner or later, so I may as well take the dose now. Every plebe, I reckon, has to have one fight, anyway, with a yearling. It's a part of the system here, from all I can hear."

Rap-tap sounded at the door.

"Come in," called d.i.c.k, but the door opened just as he was calling.

Mr. Kramer, of the yearling cla.s.s, stepped inside.

"Mr. Spurlock requests me to inform Mr. Prescott that he demands a fight, at as early a moment as possible."

"My compliments to Mr. Spurlock, and I will meet him--here in barracks, to-night, I hope. Mr. Holmes has consented to act as one of my seconds."

"Very good, sir," nodded Yearling Kramer stiffly. "Mr. Holmes, will you step out and discuss the matter with me now?"

"Yes, sir," responded Greg. He was gone ten minutes. When he returned Greg announced:

"There's an extra room on the top floor of the next subdivision.

The fight will take place there at nine to-night. Mr. Anstey has agreed to help look after your interests."

"All right, and thank you, old fellow," nodded d.i.c.k, as he turned to pick up a book.

Greg gulped and quivered behind his chum's back.

"He doesn't seem excited, but I know that I am," muttered Cadet Holmes. "The dear old fellow won't lose anything through nervousness, anyway."

d.i.c.k went through his studies and recitations as usual that day. If the stiff ordeal of the coming night carried any twinges for him, it wasn't noticeable in his demeanor. Yet d.i.c.k knew that the news had gotten thoroughly about among the cadets. He saw many of the new plebes gazing at him wonderingly.

When they returned from supper that night and reached their room, Greg was manifestly nervous--nervous enough for the pair of them, in fact.

"d.i.c.k, do you--do you expect to win?" asked Greg at last.

"Against a man like Mr. Spurlock?" smiled Cadet Prescott, and turned back to his study.

At a little after half past eight Mr. Anstey knocked on the door and came in.

"How's your form, Prescott, old ramrod?" the Virginian demanded.

"Fine, I hope," replied d.i.c.k laconically.

Greg heaved an inward sigh.

"Poor old d.i.c.k," he told himself. "I hate to see him hammered black and blue in a bare-knuckles fight like this one!"

CHAPTER IX