Dick Prescotts's Fourth Year at West Point Part 8

THE CLa.s.s COMMITTEE CALLS

Outwardly A company and the entire corps of cadets was as placid and unruffled as ever when the two battalions marched to breakfast that morning.

One conversant with military procedure, however, would have noted that Jordan, being a prisoner, marched in the line of the file closers.

And Mr. Jordan's face was wholly sulky, strive as he would to banish the look and appear indifferent.

Even to a fellow naturally as unsocial as the cadet now in arrest, it was no joke to be confined to his tent even for the s.p.a.ce of a week, except when engaged in official duties; and to be obliged, two afternoons in a week, to march in full equipment and carry his piece, for three hours in the barracks quadrangle under the watchful eyes of a cadet corporal.

This penalty would last during the remaining weeks of the encampment and would be p.r.o.nounced upon Jordan as soon as the commandant of cadets perfunctorily confirmed the temporary order of Lieutenant Denton.

d.i.c.k, at the head of A company, looked as impa.s.sive as ever, though he felt far from comfortable.

Through the ranks, wherever first cla.s.smen walked, excitement was seething.

When Prescott was seated at table in the cadet mess hall, Greg, who sat next his chum, turned and raised his eyebrows briefly, as though to say:

"There's something warm in the air."

d.i.c.k's momentary glance in return as much as said:

"I know it."

None of the other cadets at the same table turned to address Prescott directly, with the single exception of Greg Holmes. True, when d.i.c.k had occasion, twice or thrice, to address other men at his table, they answered him, though briefly.

Whatever was in the air it had not broken yet. That was as much as Prescott could guess.

The instant that they had returned to camp, and the two chums were in their tent, Greg whispered fiercely:

"That sulker, Jordan, is putting up trouble for you, as sure as you're alive."

"Then I've given him a bully handle to his weapon," admitted d.i.c.k Prescott dryly.

They were hustling into khaki field uniform now, and there was little time for comment; none for Greg to go outside and find out what was really in the air. Battery drill was right ahead of them. Barely were the chums changed to khaki field uniform before the call sounded on the bugle.

On the recall from battery drill, the chums had but a few moments before they were called out for a drill in security and information.

So the time pa.s.sed until dinner. Again Jordan marched in the line of the file closers, and now this first cla.s.sman had received his official sentence from the commandant of cadets.

So far as the demeanor of the cla.s.s toward Prescott was concerned, dinner was an exact repet.i.tion of breakfast.

On the return of the corps to camp, a few minutes followed that were officially a.s.signed to recreation.

d.i.c.k stood just inside the door of his tent when he heard the tread of several men approaching.

Looking out, he saw seven men of his own cla.s.s coming up. Durville was at their head.

"Good afternoon, Prescott," began Durville.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," nodded d.i.c.k.

"We represent the cla.s.s in a little matter," continued Durville, "and I have been asked to be the spokesman. Can you spare us a little time?"

"All the time that I have before the call sounds for my next drill,"

replied Prescott.

"Mr. Prescott, you reported a member of our cla.s.s last night," began Durville.

"I did so officially," d.i.c.k answered.

"Of course, Mr. Prescott, we understand that. The offender was a member of A company, and you are the cadet captain of that company.

But this affair happened at the guard line, and you were not cadet officer of the day. Mr. Jordan feels that you exerted yourself to catch him in his delinquency."

"I did not," replied Prescott promptly. "At the time when I called upon the cadet sentry to apprehend Mr. Jordan, I had not the remotest idea that it was Mr. Jordan."

"Then," asked Durville bluntly, "how did you, who were not the cadet officer of the day, happen to be where you could catch Mr.

Jordan so neatly?"

"In that matter I have no explanation to offer," Prescott replied.

One less a stickler for duty than Prescott might have replied that he had been on the spot the night before in obedience to a special order from the officer in charge.

d.i.c.k Prescott, however, felt that to make such a statement would be a breach of military faith. The order that he had received from Lieutenant Denton he looked upon as a confidential military order that could not be discussed, except on permission or order from competent military sources.

"Now, Prescott," continued Cadet Durville almost coaxingly, "we don't want to be hard on you, and we don't want to do anything under a misapprehension. Can't you be more explicit?"

"I have already regretted my inability to go further into the matter with you," d.i.c.k replied, pleasantly though firmly.

"And you can give us no explanation whatever of how you came to report Jordan for being beyond the camp limits?"

"All I am able to tell you is that my reporting of Mr. Jordan was a regrettable but military necessity."

"Is that all we wish to ask, gentlemen?" inquired Durville, turning to his six companions.

"It ought to be," retorted Brown dryly.

The seven nodded very coldly. Durville turned on his heel, leading the others away.

"Unless I'm a poor kitchen judge, old ramrod, your goose is cooked,"

muttered Greg Holmes mournfully.

"Then it will have to be," spoke d.i.c.k resolutely.

"But you haven't told even me how you came to be, last night, just where you could fall afoul of Jordan so nicely."

"Old chum," cried d.i.c.k, turning and resting a hand on Greg's right arm, "I can discuss that matter no further with you than I did with the cla.s.s committee."