Dick Prescott's Third Year at West Point Part 41

Then on out through the east sally-port strode Haynes. On the sidewalk beyond, he pa.s.sed Captain Alb.u.t.t. Haynes did not salute the officer; he didn't have to. Even had Haynes saluted, Captain Alb.u.t.t could not have returned this military courtesy, for Haynes was no longer a member of the American Military establishment.

On the afternoon of the day following the graduating exercises came to a brilliant finish at Cullum Hall. Brayton, Spurlock and their cla.s.smates were honorably through with West Point, their new careers about to open before them.

Cadet d.i.c.k Prescott came forth from the exercises, a look of radiant happiness on his face.

He had been ordered before a board of surgeons that morning. Just as a formality he was to go before a medical board again in August.

"But that's only a piece of red tape," Captain Goodwin had explained to him. "By wonderful good luck, or rather, no doubt, thanks to Captain Alb.u.t.t's gallantry, your spine is now as sound as ever.

Come before us in August, but I can tell you now that the August verdict will be O.K."

"My, but you look like the favorite uncle of the candy kid!" muttered Greg, as the two chums in gray strode along together.

"Why shouldn't I?" retorted d.i.c.k. "My spine is all right, and I'm to stay in the service. Then besides, Greg, old fellow, think what we are now."

"Well, what are we?" asked Greg.

"First cla.s.smen! Only a year more, Greg, to the glorious old Army!

Think of it, boy! In blue, in a year, and wearing shoulder-straps!"

"I wish we had just graduated, like Brayton, Spurlock and the rest,"

muttered Greg.

"You want to rush things, don't you, lad?"

"But d.i.c.k, you see," murmured Holmes, "a cadet can't marry."

"Oh, still harping on Miss Number Three?" laughed his chum.

"Number---thr-----" stammered Greg.

"You don't mean to say that it is all off with Miss Number Three?"

"Oh, yes; months ago."

"She broke the engagement?"

"Yes," admitted Holmes. "But I don't care."

"What's the present girl's number?" teased d.i.c.k.

"Five," confessed Greg with desperate candor. "But this girl, d.i.c.k, is worth all the others. And she'll stick. After all, it's only a year, now, that she'll have to wait."

At this point, however, we find d.i.c.k and Greg to be first cla.s.smen.

So their further adventures are necessarily reserved for the next and concluding volume in this series, which will be published under the t.i.tle, "_d.i.c.k Prescott's Fourth Year At West Point; Or, Ready to Drop the Gray for Shoulder Straps_." All we need to tell the reader is that this coming volume will contain the most rousing story of all in the _West Point Series_.

THE END