Dick Prescott's Second Year at West Point, H. Irving Hancock [nice books to read .txt] 📗

She has heard from Mr. Darrin, but he suggests September as the best time for us to visit Annapolis. So mother will bring Belle and myself to West Point. We can spend two or three days there. We shall arrive late on the afternoon on——-"

As Dick read the date, he gave a start.

"Why, they'll be here tomorrow afternoon," throbbed Prescott.

Then and there Prescott stood up in the low-ceilinged tent and tossed his campaign hat up to the ridgepole. That piece of headgear didn't have far to travel, but Dick accompanied it with an "hurrah!" uttered almost under his breath.

"Won't Greg be the tickled boy!" murmured Prescott; joyously.
"Some one from home—-and folks that we both like!"

Presently some of the drill squads returned to camp. Greg and
Anstey came in, warm and curious.

"Did you get into any trouble with the O.C., old ramrod?" questioned
Anstey in his soft voice.

"I don't believe I did," Dick answered.

Anstey nodded his congratulations.

"Greg, old fellow, guess what's going to happen soon?" demanded
Prescott.

"I'd rather you'd tell me."

"Folks from home! Mrs. Bentley, Laura and Belle Meade will be here late tomorrow afternoon!

"Great!" admitted Cadet Holmes, but to Dick's ear his chum's enthusiasm seemed perfunctory.

"We'll drag femmes to the hop tomorrow night, eh, Greg?"

"Anything on earth that you say, old ramrod," agreed Holmes placidly, then stepped out of his tent to visit across the way.

"Spoony femmes?" inquired Anstey.

"Spooniest ever!" Dick declared.

"L.P.?"

"Not on your coming shoulder-straps!" retorted Prescott, an eager look in his eyes. "And say, Anstey, you're going to the hop tomorrow night, aren't you?

"Hadn't thought so," replied the other quietly.

"Anything else on?"

"Nothing particular."

"Then be at the hop, Anstey, old bunkie—do! I want you to meet both the young ladies, and dance at least a couple of numbers with each."

"I reckon I'd go through fire or water for you, or Holmesy," murmured the Virginian quietly.

"Oh, it isn't going to be anything like such an ordeal as that," laughed Dick happily. "Just wait until you've seen the young ladies. That's all!"

"As they——-" Anstey paused. Then he went on, after considering: "As they come from home, old ramrod, I should think you and Holmesy would want them all to yourselves."

"But don't you understand, you uncivilized being," demanded Dick, chuckling, "that we can't dance all the numbers with the girls? It would be a slight on the girls if only two men wanted to dance with them. Besides, we want to show them all that's best about West Point. We want them to meet as many as possible the very best fellows that are here."

"My deepest thanks, suh, for the compliment," replied Anstey, with a deep bow.

"Well, that describes you, doesn't it?" demanded Dick. "We want these girls to carry away with them the finest impression possible of good old West Point!"

When evening came, and Prescott and Holmes strolled through camp, listening to the band concert, Dick wanted to talk all the time about the coming visit of the girls. Greg answered, though it struck his chum that Holmes was merely politely enthusiastic.

"Say, Dick," whispered Greg presently, with far greater enthusiasm than he had been displaying, "look at that black-eyed, perfectly tinted little doll that is walking with Griffin!

"Stroll around and meet them face to face presently, then," grinned
Dick. "Griff won't mind."

"The deuce he won't" growled Greg. "I'd have a scrap on my hands, besides being voted a butter-in."

"Try it," advised Prescott, giving his chum a little shove. "I tell you, Griff won't mind. Her name is Griffin, too. She's his sister."

A moment later Prescott turned and tried to gulp down a great chuckle. For Greg, without another word, had left him, and now was strolling along with an air of slight absorption, yet his course was so managed as to bring Mr. Holmes face to face with Griffin. At least a dozen other gray and white-clad young men were also to be observed manoeuvring so as to meet Griffin casually. Thus it happened that Greg was but one of a group. Observing this, Holmes increased his stride.

"Hullo, Holmesy!" cried Griffin, with great cordiality. "Glad to encounter you. I've just been telling my sister about some of the best fellows. Della, I present Mr. Holmes. Mr. Holmes, my sister!"

Greg lifted his cap in the most polished manner that he had been able to acquire at West Point, while a dozen other men scowled at Griffin, who appeared not to see them.

Miss Adele Griffin was presently chatting most animatedly about her new impressions of West Point and the United States Military Academy.

"Holmesy, you know so much more about things than I do," pleaded
Griffin sweetly, "just be good to Dell for an hour, won't you?
You're one of the best-informed men here. Now, mind you, Dell!
No fun at Mr. Holmes's expense. Look out for her, Holmesy!"

With that Griffin "slid away" as gracefully and neatly as though he hadn't been planning to do it all along.

"Your brother has always been mighty pleasant to me, but he never was as downright good before," murmured Greg, looking down into the big black eyes that glanced laughingly up into is face.

"Oh, if you are ordinarily observant," laughed Miss Griffin, "just keep your eyes on a level, and you'll be able, in five minutes, to understand why he is so good to you in the present instance."

Nevertheless, it was fully ten minutes before they met Griff again. That young man was talking, with all animation, to a tall, rather stately blonde young lady.

"My brother," remarked Miss Griffin, "is good boy, but he is calculating, even in his goodness.

"I don't like to hear a word said against Griff," protested Greg, "for I feel that I'm under the greatest obligation of my life to him."

Miss Griffin laughed easily, but she glanced up challengingly into the eyes of her tall escort. Miss Griffin had heard of the gallantries of West Point's men, and didn't propose to be caught.

"You must find the cadets a good deal below your expectations?" remarked Mr. Holmes inquiringly.

"No; they're a wholly charming lot," replied the girl. "Oh, that word 'lot' simply escaped me. Yet it does seem rather apt. Don't you think, Mr. Holmes, that the wearing of identical uniforms gives the young men rather the look of a 'lot'?"

Greg felt just a bit crestfallen, but he wasn't going to show it.

"Why, I don't know," he replied slowly. "Some of the young ladies who come here seem able to distinguish units in the lot."

"Differences in height, and variations in the color of hair and eyes? Is that it?" asked Miss Griffin, with an air of mild curiosity.

"Why, perhaps we're like Chinamen?" laughed Greg good-naturedly. "Pig-tailed and blue-bloused Chinese all look alike at first glance. Gradually, however, one is able to note individual peculiarities of appearance."

"Yes, I guess that's it, Mr. Holmes," replied the girl musingly.

"Now, I won't ask you to tax yourself unpleasantly in distinguishing one cadet from another," Greg went on bravely. "But I am hoping, with all my heart, that you'll know me the next time you meet me."

"I can tell you how to make certain," responded Miss Griffin demurely.

"Then I shall be your debtor for life!"

"Wear a red carnation in your blouse, and carry a white handkerchief in your left hand."

"You're cruel," sighed Greg.

"Why?" demanded Miss Griffin.

"Both tests that you suggest are against cadet regulations. Let me suggest a better test?"

"If you can?" challenged Miss Griffin.

The band, at this moment, was playing a Strauss waltz. The young people had strolled just a bit beyond the encampment, and now Greg compelled a halt under the added shadow of a big tree.

"The test I long to suggest," replied Greg, "is so exacting that
I hesitate to ask it."

"My curiosity is aroused," complained Miss Griffin.

"I had it in mind to ask you to look up into my face until you are certain that you will recognize it again."

"Mercy!" gasped the black-eyed beauty.

"I knew I was presumptuous and inconsiderate," admitted Greg meekly.

None the less, Miss Griffin laughed and stood looking coyly up into Mr. Holmes's face. But at last, feeling absurd, Miss Griffin shifted her glance.

"I knew I was asking too much," remarked Greg in a tone of resignation.
"You couldn't stand it, could you?"

Laughing merrily, Miss Griffin turned her look upward again, meeting
Greg Holmes's gray eyes.

Then, after a few moments, she remarked thoughtfully:

"My brother was over-solicitous in fearing that I would embarrass you in the least."

"Are you going to be at the hop tomorrow night?" Greg asked.

"I—-would like to."

"Can it be possible," queried Mr. Holmes, "that I am so fortunate as to be discreet in asking whether I may escort you there?"

"If you care to be so charitable, Mr. Holmes."

Greg had a moment's uneasy impulse to seize her hand by way of answer. Fortunately, he restrained himself.

"If I call for you at the hotel tomorrow evening, Miss Griffin, may I hope that you will recognize me?" he challenged.

"I will take another look and make sure," she laughed softly, glancing up archly into Greg's face.

As the concert drew to a close Greg had to make a decent show of trying to find Griffin, and he succeeded. Griffin was still with the tall blonde. Griffin had permission to go to the hotel, and Greg didn't. So Greg strolled with Miss Griffin until near the hotel grounds. Then he bade her a cordial good night, and Griff escorted both "femmes" to the hotel.

"What do you think of Holmesy?" asked Griffin of his sister.

"He's quite agreeable," replied Adele Griffin. "Very soldierly, if I am any judge. I wonder how he will look in a second lieutenant's uniform?"

As our three bunkies prepared for bed that night Prescott remarked:

"Tomorrow, Greg, we'll see the folks from home! I hope you'll do nothing, though, to make Dave Darrin dislike you."

"I won't," promised Greg solemnly. Then: "Oh, great—-Jove!
I've——-"

"Well?" demanded Dick. "What have you done?

"I've asked another femme to accept my drag to-morrow night!

"Miss Griffin?"

"Yes!"

"Anstey," continued Dick, turning quickly to hide a frown, "I shall have to draft you!"

"I was bo'n and reared a gentleman, suh!" replied the Virginian, with cordial gravity.

CHAPTER VII THE FOLKS FROM HOME

Two tall, superbly erect young men, showing the soldier in every line of bearing, stepped jauntily along the road leading to the hotel just before five o'clock.

Each wore the fatigue cap of the cadet, the trim gray, black-trimmed blouse of the cadet uniform. Their white duck trousers were the spooniest as to spotlessness and crease.

Dick and Greg went straight to the hotel office.

"The register, please," asked Prescott, for the clerk's back was turned over some work that he was doing.

This was not a request for the hotel register but for the cadet register. Understanding, the clerk turned and passed a small book known as the cadet register. He opened it to the page for the day, while Prescott was reaching for a pen.

In this register both young men inscribed their names. Each had secured permission from the O.C. to visit the hotel. At the close of every day, a transcript of the day's signatures by cadets is taken, and this transcript goes to the O.C. The clerk will send no cards for cadets who have not first registered. The transcript of registry, which goes to the O.C., enables the latter to make sure that no cadets have visited the hotel without permission.

Prescott laid down his visiting card. Holmes laid another beside it.

"Are Mrs. Bentley, Miss Bentley and Miss Meade here?" queried Dick.

After consulting the hotel register the clerk nodded.

"Our cards to Mrs. Bentley, please."

"Front! Fifty-seven!" called the clerk to a bellboy.

"Thank you," acknowledged Prescott.

"Wheeling, the young men turned from the office, striding down the hotel veranda side by side. They turned in at the ladies' entrance, then, caps in hand, stood waiting in the corridor. It is a rule that a cadet