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

with Prescott and Anstey, the salutes being punctiliously returned.

Bert Dodge was in a rage. He could not get so much as the courtesy of a bow from these girls whom he had known for years. He was being cut dead and he knew it, and the humiliation of the thing was more than he could well bear. A half hour later, he saw the party coming, and discreetly took himself out of sight.

"I can play my cards at the hop," he muttered.

The over to Cullum Hall, through the dark night, the little party strolled, one of many similar parties.

Once inside Cullum Hall, Prescott and Anstey, looking mightily like young copies of Mars in their splendid dress uniforms, conducted the ladies to seats at the side of the ballroom. Dick and Anstey next took the ladies' light wraps and went with them to the cloak room, after which they passed on to the coat room and checked their own caps.

Laura and Belle gazed about them with well-bred curiosity—-Mrs. Bentley, too—-at the other guests of the evening, who were arriving rapidly. The scene was one of animated life. It would have been hard to say whether the handsome gowns of the young ladies, or the cadet dress uniforms, gave more life and spirit to the scene.

As Prescott and Anstey returned across the ballroom floor the orchestra started a preliminary march. Both young cadets fell unconsciously in step close to the door, and came marching, side by side, soldierly—-perfect!

"What splendid, manly young fellows!" breathed Laura admiringly to Belle. Her mother, too, heard.

"Be careful, Laura," advised her mother, smilingly. "Don't lose your heart to a scrap of gray cloth and a brass button."

"Don't fear," smiled Miss Bentley happily. "When I lose my heart it shall be to a man! And how many of them we see here tonight mother!"

Nearly with the precision of a marching platoon the two young men halted before the ladies. Yet there was nothing of stiff formality about either Prescott or Anstey. They stood before their friends, chatting lightly.

"Tell us about some of the other hops that you have attended before," begged Belle Meade.

"But we haven't attended any," Dick replied. "Do you recall my promise in Gridley, Miss Bentley—-that I would invite you to my first hop as soon as I was eligible to attend one?"

"Yes," nodded Laura smilingly.

"This is my first hop," Dick said, smilingly.

"Mine, too," affirmed Anstey.

"Gracious!" laughed Belle merrily. "I hope you both know how to dance."

"We put in weary lessons as plebes, under the dancing master," laughed Dick.

"But you danced well in Gridley," protested Laura.

"Thank you. But the style is a bit different at West Point."

"You make me uneasy," pouted Belle.

"Then that uneasiness will vanish by the time you are half through with the first number."

"There comes Mr. Holmes," discovered Laura. "What a remarkably pretty girl with him."

"Mr. Griffin's sister," said Dick.

"Isn't that Mr. Dodge?" murmured Laura.

Dick only half turned, but his sidelong glance covered the doorway.

"Yes; he appears to be stagging it."

Bert presently disappeared. As a cadet always claims the first number or two with the young lady whom he has "dragged" hither, "staggers" have to wait until later in the programme.

Then, presently the music for the opening dance struck up. Dick had already presented Furlong, a "stagger," to Mrs. Bentley, so that she was not left alone. Furlong had asked the pleasure of a dance with Laura's mother, but Mrs. Bentley, with instinctive tact, realized that the older women did not often dance at cadet hops. So she begged Mr. Furlong to remain with her and tell her about the cadet hops.

As the music struck up, and Dick bent before her, he thrilled with the grace and unaffected friendliness with which Laura rose and rested one hand on his shoulder. She was a woman, and a magnificent one! Away they whirled, Anstey and Belle following.

"I greatly enjoyed the High School hops of former days," sighed
Laura, "but this is finer."

"Same escort," murmured Dick.

"Same name, but in many ways much changed," laughed Miss Bentley.
"Dick, I am so glad you came to West Point."

"So am I," he answered simply.

The first two numbers they danced together, then changed partners for the third dance. Between times, Greg had appeared with Miss Griffin and introductions had followed. Dick's fourth number was danced with Miss Griffin, while Anstey led her out for the fifth.

For that fifth dance Dick introduced one of his classmates to
Laura, and, during that dance, Prescott stood and chatted with
Mrs. Bentley. He saw to it that Laura's mother was very seldom
without company through the evening.

The sixth dance Dick enjoyed with Laura.

"I had a reason for waiting and asking for this dance," he murmured in her ear.

"Yes?" challenged Laura.

"I discovered that it is the longest number on the programme. I would dearly love the next number, also, but I must not make the evening too dull and prosy for you. Will you trust me to select your partner for the next dance?"

"I am wholly in your hands," smiled Miss Bentley.

After Dick had conducted Laura to a seat beside her mother he stepped away to find Sennett, of the yearling class.

"Sennett," murmured Dick banteringly, "I have seen you casting eyes at Miss Bentley."

"I fear I must plead my guilt, old ramrod. Are you going to present me?"

"For the next dance. I think, if you are very much on your guard,
Sennett, you will pass for enough of a gentleman for a few minutes."

"I'll call you out for that on Monday," retorted the other yearling, in mock wrath. "But, for the present, lead me over that I may prostrate myself at the feet of the femme."

So Dick stood beside Mrs. Bentley and watched Laura dance with one of the most popular fellows of the class. As Sennett and Laura returned to Mrs. Bentley, Cadet Dodge suddenly slipped up as though from nowhere.

"Miss Bentley," he murmured, bowing before Laura, after having greeted her mother, "I am presumptuous enough to trust that you remember me."

"Perfectly, Mr. Dodge," replied Laura in her even tones. "How do you do?"

She did not offer her hand; within the limits of perfectly good breeding it was her privilege to withhold it without slight or offence.

"How have you been since the old High School days?"

"Perfectly well, thank you."

"And you, Mrs. Bentley?" asked Dodge, again bowing before her mother.

"Very well, thank you, Mr. Dodge," replied Mrs. Bentley, who subtly took her cue from her daughter.

"Now, Miss Bentley, you are not going to leave a broken heart behind you at West Point?" urged Bert softly. "You are going to let me write my name on your dance card—-even if only once."

"You should have spoken earlier, Mr. Dodge," laughed Laura. "Every dance, if not already taken, is good as promised."

Yearling Dodge could not conceal his chagrin. At that moment
Belle Meade returned with one of the tallest cadets on the floor.

Bert greeted her effusively. Belle returned the greeting as evenly and as perfectly as Laura had done—-but nothing more.

"Miss Meade, you are going to be tenderhearted enough to flatter me with one dance?" begged Dodge.

"Oh, I am so sorry!" replied Belle, in a tone of well-bred regret that carried with it nothing more than courtesy, "but I'm promised for every dance."

Cadets Prescott and Sennett had turned slightly aside. So had Belle's late partner. Dodge knew that they were laughing inwardly at his Waterloo. And Anstey and Greg, who stood by at this moment, appeared to be wearing inscrutable grins. Dodge made his adieus hurriedly, walking up the ballroom just ahead of Furlong, who also had observed. Bert felt sure so many of his comrades had seen and enjoyed his plight that his fury was at white heat as he stepped just outside the ballroom.

Furlong came after him, looking at him quizzically.

"We staggers have a hard time of it, eh, Dodge?" grinned Mr. Furlong.

"Are you referring to the two femmes I was just billing?" shot out Dodge impetuously. "Oh, they're very inconsequential girls!"

Mr. Furlong drew himself up very straight, his eyes flashing fire.

"You dog!" he exclaimed, in utter disgust.

Yearling Dodge turned ghastly white.

"You—-you didn't understand me. Let me explain," he urged.

"You can't explain a remark like yours," muttered Mr. Furlong over his shoulder, as he turned his back on Bert.

To be called a "dog" has but one sequence in cadet world. Bert Dodge had to send his seconds to Mr. Furlong before taps. Though they must have loathed their task, had they known the whole story, the seconds made arrangements with Mr. Furlong's representatives.

Before reveille the next morning Bert Dodge stood up for nearly two rounds before the sledgehammer fists of Mr. Furlong.

When it was over, Dodge sought cadet hospital, remaining there until Monday morning, and returning to camp looking somewhat the worse for wear.

Along with truth, honor and courtesy, tenderest chivalry toward woman is one of the fairest flowers of the West Point teaching.

Fellows like yearling Dodge cannot be taught. They can only be insulted to the fighting point, and then pummelled. Cadet Furlong went to considerable inconvenience, though uncomplainingly, for two young women whom he had not the pleasure of knowing.

CHAPTER IX SPOONY FEMME—-FLIRTATION WALK

"So this is Flirtation Walk?" asked Belle Meade.

The four young people—-Anstey was one of them—-had just turned into the famous path, which begins not far to the eastward of the hotel. It was between one and two o'clock on Sunday afternoon.

"This is Flirtation Walk," replied Mr. Anstey.

"But is one compelled to flirt, on this stroll?" asked Belle, with a comical pout.

"By no means," Anstey hastened to assure her. "Yet the surroundings often bring out all there may be of slumbering inclination to flirt."

"Where did the walk ever get such a name?" pursued Belle.

"Really, you have to see the first half of it before you can quite comprehend," the Virginian told her.

"I suppose you have been over this way times innumerable?" teased
Miss Meade.

"Hardly," replied Anstey seriously. "I have been a yearling only a few days."

"But is a plebe forbidden to stroll here?"

"If a plebe did have the brass to try it," replied Anstey slowly,
"I reckon he would have to fight the whole yearling class in turn."

Laura caught some of the conversation, and turned to Dick.

"Haven't plebes any rights or privileges?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, indeed," replied Prescott gravely. "A plebe is fed three meals a day, like anyone else. If he gets hurt he has a right to medical and surgical attendance. He is allowed to attend chapel on Sunday, just like an upper classman, and he may receive and write letters. But he mustn't butt into upper-class privileges."

"Poor plebe!" sighed sympathetic Laura.

"Lucky plebe!" amended Dick.

"Weren't you fearfully glum and homesick last year?

"Some of the time, desperately so."

"Yet you believe it is right to ignore a plebe, and to make him so wretched?"

"The upper classmen don't make the plebe wretched. The plebe is just on probation while he's in the fourth class—-that's all. The plebe is required to prove that he's a man before he's accepted as one."

"It all seems dreadfully hard," contended Laura.

"It is hard, but necessary, if the West Point man is to be graduated as anything but a snob with an enlarged cranium. Laura, you remember what a fuss the 'Blade' made over me when I won my appointment? Now, almost every new man come to West Point with some such splurge made about him at home. He reaches here thinking he's one of the smartest fellows in creation. In a good many cases, too, the fellow has been spoiled ever since he was a baby, by being the son of wealthy parents, or by being from a family distinguished in some petty local social circles. The first move here, on the part of the upper classmen, is to take all of that swelling out of the new man's head. Then, most likely, the new