Dick Prescott's Second Year at West Point Part 24

"The left."

"It doesn't really matter which hand," Greg pursued, "but I asked to make sure that your mind is working."

"Oh, my mind is working," uttered d.i.c.k vengefully.

"But what else happened about that handkerchief?

"Dodge used it, then started to tuck it into his own blouse.

I grinned and reminded him that the handkerchief would fit better inside my blouse."

"And then?"

"Just then the call sounded, and we had to jump. Dodge handed me back the handkerchief with a swift apology, and raced away to join his section."

"And you?"

"I tucked the handkerchief in my blouse."

"Now, do some hard thinking," insisted Holmes. "Did you take that handkerchief out again until the unlucky time just after you had turned away from the board after explaining in math.?"

d.i.c.k remained silent, while the clock in the room ticked off the seconds.

"I am sure I did not," he replied firmly. "No; that was the next time that I took my handkerchief out."

"Huh!" muttered Greg. "We've got our start. And it won't be far to the end, either. Cheer up, old man!"

At that instant the call for formation sounded. The young men were ready and turned to leave the room on the jump. As they did so, Greg muttered in a low tone:

"Say nothing, but hold up your head and smile. Don't let anyone face you down. Not ten fellows in the corps will even guess that you could possibly be guilty of anything mean!"

Wouldn't they? West Point cadets have such an utter contempt for anything savoring of cheating or lying that the mere suspicion is often enough to make them hold back.

As the cadets moved to their places in the formations scores of cadets pa.s.sed Prescott.

Short as the time had been, the news was already flying through the corps.

Usually d.i.c.k had a score of greetings as made his way to his place in line. Today dozen cadets who had been among his friends seemed not to see him.

d.i.c.k recoiled, inwardly, as though from a stinging blow in the face. None of his comrades meant to be cruel. But most of them wanted to make sure that the seemingly reliable charge was not true. They must wait.

Utterly dejected, Prescott marched to dinner. On his way back to barracks a new and overwhelming thought came to him.

Laura Bentley and her mother, and Belle Meade were due at the hotel the next afternoon, and he and Greg had arranged to drag the girls to the Sat.u.r.day-night hop.

"Greg, I can't leave quarters," muttered d.i.c.k huskily, as he threw himself down at his desk and began to write rapidly. "You'll have to attend to sending this telegram for me."

"On the jump!" a.s.sented Greg,

The telegram was addressed to Laura Bentley, and read:

"Don't come to West Point tomorrow. My letter will explain."

"I'll send it before the drawing lesson," Greg uttered, and vanished.

Confined to quarters in close arrest, Cadet Prescott put in more than two miserable hours endeavoring to get that letter written.

But he couldn't get it penned. Then a knock came the door, and a telegram was handed in. It read:

"Wife and girls have left for shopping trip in New York. Don't know where to reach them."

It was signed by Dr. Bentley. The yellow paper fluttered from Prescott's hands to the floor. Mechanically he picked it up and carried it to his study table.

"I can't stop them," he muttered dismally. "Nor shall I be out of close arrest by that time, either. There's nothing I can do.

I can't even see them---and I've been looking forward to this for months!"

Again d.i.c.k Prescott buried his head in his arms at the study table.

To have Laura come here at the time when he was in the deepest disgrace that a cadet may face!

Greg came back to find his chum pacing the floor in misery.

"Well, it can't be helped," muttered Holmes philosophically.

"Of course you and Anstey can drag the girls to Cullum."

"Surely," muttered Holmes listlessly, "if the girls would go at all under such circ.u.mstances."

"I've made their trip a mockery and a bitter disappointment,"

groaned d.i.c.k.

"No, you haven't ramrod," retorted Greg. "Fate may be to blame, but you can't be held accountable for what you didn't do. Have no fear. I'll see to the ladies tomorrow afternoon. But I'm a pile more interested in knowing what is to be done in your case.

The superintendent and the K.C. may see the absurdity of this whole thing against you, and order your arrest ended."

"But that won't clear me, Greg, and you know it. There would still be the suspicion in the corps, and---O Greg!---I can't endure that suspicion."

"Pshaw, old ramrod, you won't have to, very long. We'll bust this whole suspicion higher than any kite ever flew. See here, Dodge is responsible for your humiliation, and we'll drag it all out of him, if we have to tie him up by the thumbs!"

A knock at the door, and Anstey entered.

"I really couldn't get here before, old ramrod. But I'd cut you in a minute if I thought it really necessary to come here and tell you that I don't believe any charge of dishonor against you, Prescott, could possibly be true."

"It's mighty pleasant to have every fellow who feels that way come and say so," muttered d.i.c.k gratefully, as he thrust out his hand.

Another knock at the door. Cadet Prescott must report at once at the office of the K.C.

Down the stairs trudged d.i.c.k, across the area, and into the office of the commandant of cadets.

"I want to know, Mr. Prescott," declared that officer, "whether you can throw any added light in regard to the occurrence in Captain Abbott's section room this morning."

d.i.c.k had to deliberate, swiftly, as to whether he should say anything about having loaned Mr. Dodge his handkerchief briefly.