Dick Prescott's Second Year at West Point by H. Irving Hancock (feel good books to read .txt) 📖

id="id01043">Dunstan went through a halting explanation of his problem. Then
Captain Abbott called:

"Mr. Prescott!"

Taking up the short pointer, Dick rattled off the statement of the problem. Then he plunged into his demonstration, becoming more and more confident as he progressed.

When he had finished Captain Abbott asked three or four questions.
Dick answered these without hesitation.

"Excellent," nodded the gratified instructor. "That is all, Mr.
Prescott."

As Dick turned to step to his seat he pulled his handkerchief from the breast of his blouse and wiped the chalk from his hands. All unseen by himself a narrow slip of white paper fluttered from underneath his handkerchief to the floor.

"Mr. Prescott," called Captain Abbott, "will you bring me that piece of paper from the floor?"

Dick obeyed without curiosity, then turned again and gained his seat. The instructor, in the meantime, had called upon Mr. Pike. While Pike was reciting, haltingly, Captain Abbott turned over the slip of paper on his desk, glancing at it with "one of his pairs of eyes."

Anyone who had been looking at the instructor at that moment would have noted a slight start and a brief change of color in the captain's face. But he said nothing until all of the cadets had recited and had been marked.

"Mr. Prescott!" the instructor then called Dick rose, standing by his seat.

"Mr. Prescott, did you work out your problem for today unaided?"

"I had a little aid, last night, sir, from Mr. Anstey."

"But you had no aid in the section room today?"

"No, sir," replied Dick, feeling much puzzled.

"You understand my question, Mr. Prescott?"

"I think so, sir."

"In putting down your demonstration on the blackboard today you had no aid whatever?"

"None whatever, sir."

"At one stage, Air. Prescott, you hesitated, waited, then asked permission to erase? After that erasure you went on with hardly a break to the end of the blackboard work."

"Yes, sir."

"And, at the time you hesitated, before securing leave to erase, you did not consult any aid in your work?"

"No, sir."

"This piece of paper," continued Captain Abbott, lifting the slip, "fell from your handkerchief when you drew it out, just as you left the blackboard. That was why I asked you to bring it to me, Mr. Prescott. This paper contains all the salient features of your demonstration. Can you explain this fact, Mr. Prescott?"

The astounded yearling felt as though his brain were reeling.
He went hot and cold, all in a flash.

In the same moment the other men of the section sat as though stunned. All lying, deceit and fraud are so utterly detested at West Point that to a cadet it is incomprehensible how a comrade can be guilty of such an offence.

It seemed to Prescott like an age ere he could master his voice.

"I never saw that paper, sir, before you asked me to pick it up!"

"But it dropped from under your handkerchief, Mr. Prescott. Can you account for that?"

"I cannot, sir."

Captain Abbott looked thoughtfully, seriously, at Cadet Richard Prescott. The instructor had always liked this young man, and had deemed him worthy of all trust. Yet what did this evidence show?

In the meantime the cadets sat staring the tops of their desks, or the covers of their books. The gaze of each man was stony; so were his feelings.

Prescott, the soul of honor, caught in such a scrape as this!

But there must be some sensible and satisfactory explanation, thought at least half of the cadets present.

"Have I permission to ask a question, sir?" asked Dick in an almost hollow voice.

"Proceed, Mr. Prescott."

"Is the paper in my handwriting, sir?"

"It is not," declared the instructor. "Most of it is in typewriting, with two figures drawn crudely in ink. There are three or four typewriting machines on the post to which a cadet may find easy access. You may examine this piece of paper, Mr. Prescott, if you think that will aid you to throw any light on the matter."

Dick stepped forward, lurching slightly. Most of the silent men of the section took advantage of this slight distraction to shift their feet to new positions. The noise grated in that awful silence.

How Dick's hand shook as he reached for the paper. At first his eyes were too blurred for him to make out clearly what was on the paper. But at last he made it all out.

"I am very sorry, sir. This paper tells me nothing."

Captain Abbott's gaze was fixed keenly on the young man's face. White-faced Prescott, shaking and ghastly looking, showed all the evidences of detected, overwhelmed guilt.

Innocent men often do the same.

"You may return the paper and take your seat, Mr. Prescott."

As Prescott turned away he made a powerful effort to hold his head erect, and to look fearlessly before him.

It was a full minute, yet, before the bugle would sound through the Academic Building to end the recitation period. Dick was not the only one in this section room who found the wait intolerable.

But at last the bugle notes were heard.

"The section is dismissed," announced Captain Abbott. Dunstan, the section marcher, formed his men and led them thence. No man in the section held his head more erect than did Prescott, who was conscious of his own absolute innocence in the affair.

Yet, when he reached his room, and sank down at his study table, a groan escaped Dick Prescott.

His head fell forward, cushioned in his folded arms.

Thus Holmes found him on entering the room.

"Why, old ramrod, what on earth is the matter?" gasped Greg.

A groan from his chum was the only answer.

At that moment another step, brisk and official, was heard in the corridor. There was a short rap on the door, after which Unwine, cadet officer of the day, wearing his red sash and sword, stepped into the room.

"Mr. Prescott, you are ordered in close arrest in your quarters until further orders."

"Yes, sir," huskily replied Prescott, who had struggled to his feet and now stood at attention.

As Unwine wheeled, marching from the room, Dick sank again over his study table.

"Dick, old ramrod," pleaded Greg terrified, "what on earth——-"

"Greg," came the anguished moan, "they're going to try to fire me from West Point for a common cheat—-and I'm afraid they'll do it, too!"

CHAPTER XIII IN CLOSE ARREST

Ever since Greg Holmes first came to West Point he had been learning the repose and the reserve of the trained soldier.

Yet if ever his face betrayed utter abandonment to amazement it was now.

Cadet Holmes gazed at his chum in open-mouthed wonder.

"By and by," uttered Greg fretfully, "You'll tell me the meaning of this joke, and why Mr. Unwine should be in it, too."

It was several minutes before Prescott turned around again. When he did there was a furious glare in his eyes.

"Greg, old chum! This is no joke. You heard Unwine. He was delivering an official order, not carrying an April-fool package."

"Well, then, what does it all mean?" demanded Greg stolidly, for he began to feel dazed. "But, first of all, old ramrod, aren't you going to get ready to fall in for dinner formation?"

Mechanically, wearily, Dick obeyed the suggestion.

As he did so he managed to tell the story of the section room to horrified Greg.

"See here," muttered Cadet Holmes energetically, "you didn't do anything in the cheating line. Every fellow in the corps will know that. So you'll have to set your wits at work to find the real explanation of the thing. How could that paper have gotten in with your handkerchief?"

"I don't know," replied Dick, shaking his head hopelessly.

"Well, you've got to find out, son, and that right quick! There isn't a moment to be lost! You didn't cheat—-you wouldn't know how do a deliberately dishonest thing. But that reply won't satisfy the powers that be. You've got to get your answer ready, and do it with a rush."

"Perhaps you can also suggest where the rush should start," observed
Prescott.

"Yes; I've got to suggest everything that is going to be done, I reckon," muttered Greg, resting a chum's loyal hand on Dick's shoulder. "Old ramrod, you're too dazed to think of anything, and I'm nearly as badly off myself. Say, did anyone, to your knowledge, have your handkerchief?"

Cadet Richard Prescott wheeled like a flash. His face had gone white again; he stared as though at a terrifying ghost.

"By the great horn spoon, Greg——-"

"Good! You're getting roused. Now, out with it!

"There were a lot of us standing about in the area, a little before time for the math. sections to start off."

"Yes? And some other fellow handled your handkerchief?"

"Bert Dodge found himself without one, and asked me for mine, to wipe a smear of black from the back of his hand."

"Which hand?"

"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 Dick 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.?"

Dick 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 passed Prescott.

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

Usually Dick 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.

Dick 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 Saturday-night hop.

"Greg, I can't leave quarters," muttered Dick 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!" assented 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