Dick Prescott's First Year at West Point Part 3

Mr. Geroldstone had finished dressing and sat by, a sulky look on his face. He wanted to go back to cadet store, get his money and leave West Point instantly. But the orderly had told him he would have to wait until a report had been made out to the adjutant.

To d.i.c.k the minutes dragged until Greg Holmes appeared again.

Truth to tell, Greg was much afraid that he had a slight trouble with his heart, and that this difficulty would hinder his pa.s.sing.

d.i.c.k, who was aware of his chum's dread, was anxious for Holmes. As soon as he had finished dressing he found himself pacing the floor.

It was quite a while ere Greg came out, but his quiet, happy smile told the story.

"Did they ask you questions about your heart?" asked Prescott in an undertone.

"Yes," admitted Greg, while he dropped his blanket and began hastily pulling on his clothes.

"You told the truth, didn't you?"

"Of course, I did," flushed Greg. "If I hadn't told the truth I wouldn't be fit to be an Army officer. But Captain Goodwin laughed at me."

"Then he didn't find anything much wrong with your heart!"

"He said he guessed I had had some discomfort at times, but that, if I would eat more slowly, and chew my food better, my stomach would get a rest and stop shoving my heart."

"Oh! Is that all that has been ailing you?" smiled d.i.c.k.

"According to Captain Goodwin it's enough. He says my trouble started only recently, and that I can be over the last sign of it in three days if I'll take up with decent eating habits. But he has known boys he has had to reject because they had been at bad eating tricks for a longer time. You can bet I'm going to follow the surgeon's advice after this."

Four out of this squad of candidates were rejected by the examining surgeons. Geroldstone remained sulky, with an air of bravado; the other three young men were so downcast that all their companions were heartily sorry for them. The hospital orderly marched back to the adjutant's office those who had been rejected, while another orderly appeared and led those who had pa.s.sed the surgeons to the cadet barracks.

"This begins to look like the real thing," murmured d.i.c.k as they neared the barracks.

Now this group were taken to the room of the cadet officer of the day, Lieutenant Edwards. Beside the cadet lieutenant's desk stood Cadet Corporal Brayton.

To the cadet officer of the day each of the candidates gave his name and home address, which were entered in a book.

"Brayton, take Prescott and Holmes to room number --, will you?"

asked Mr. Edwards without looking up.

d.i.c.k and Greg followed their conductor outside and into another subdivision of barracks. Mr. Brayton kept on until he had reached the top flight, where he threw open a door.

"Step in here, Mr. Prescott and Mr. Holmes," ordered the cadet corporal stiffly. To the two new arrivals the corporal spoke as though he had conceived an intense dislike for these two boys.

Later, d.i.c.k and Greg discovered that it was merely the way in which all candidates were treated by the cadet officers.

"You'll draw your bedding and other things presently," said Brayton coldly. "In the meantime you will remain here until you are ordered out. When you hear the order for candidates to turn out, obey without an instant's delay."

With that the corporal was gone, leaving the chums to gaze wonderingly about their new quarters.

Luxury? Not a bit of it. The room was severely plain. At one end was a double alcove, separated by a wall. In each alcove stood a bare-looking iron bedstead. There were two washbowls, two chairs and two desks that looked as though they had served the needs of generations of cadets. There was a window that looked out on the quadrangular area of barracks.

"Well, we're actually here, anyway," breathed d.i.c.k, his eyes sparkling. "We're living in cadet barracks, and we're halfway through the ordeal of becoming new cadets at the wonderful old United States Military Academy!"

CHAPTER II

THE TYRANNY OF THE CADET CORPORAL

d.i.c.k hung up his coat and hat, and Greg did the same, for the heat was turned on and the room wholly comfortable as to temperature.

"I've heard," murmured Greg, "that fellows usually get most woefully homesick at West Point."

"Then they've no business to come here," retorted Prescott, with spirit. "Such tender ones won't make soldiers anyway."

"I suppose we shall be awfully looked down on at first," mused Greg aloud.

"Well, we can stand it," laughed d.i.c.k. "If we can't, we can't endure lots more of things that are ahead of us."

"Just now I could endure a good, filling meal," sighed Holmes comically.

"Yes?" laughed Prescott. "Then just press the b.u.t.ton and the waiter will bring us the bill of fare. I understand that candidates are allowed to have their meals served in rooms. Although I believe it's forbidden for any candidate, or cadet, either, to eat his breakfast in bed."

"Quit your 'kidding,'" begged Greg.

"I don't know that the authorities will bother to feed us, anyway, until we've pa.s.sed and it's known that we are going to stay and be cadets," laughed young Prescott, feeling around his belt-line, for he, too, was hungry.

"Candidates turn out promptly!" rang, from below, a voice full of military command.

Greg was in the middle of a comforting yawn and stretch. He dallied to finish it, but d.i.c.k, s.n.a.t.c.hing down his overcoat and hat, was already out on the landing and racing below, while behind him floated the advice:

"Come on, Greg! Get a boost on!"

"Get along there, beasts," commanded a cadet corporal in the lower hallway sternly. "This is no sleeping match!"

Out in the yard several candidates had already run. Some of these young men at home, had been accustomed to being waited on by mothers and sisters. Yet here, in the seemingly freezing and hostile air of the Military Academy, these same young men were fast learning that everything has to be done by one's self, and at steam-engine speed.

"Mr. Danvers, come with me, and I'll place you as right guide,"

called Cadet Brayton with the air and tone of a budding military martinet.

Candidate Danvers followed meekly. Brayton looked at the lad's stooping shoulders with frigid, utter disapproval.

"Mr. Danvers, take your hands out of your pockets, sir."

"All right," laughed Mr. Danvers, obeying, and trying to laugh nonchalantly. "Anything to please."

"Don't address a superior officer, sir, unless he addresses you in a way to make a reply necessary. And when you do address a Superior officer, or any other cadet or candidate on official business always add 'sir.'"

Danvers nodded, but the nod Cadet Corporal Brayton ignored by turning on his heel and stepping, with a magnificently military air and carriage, over to another luckless candidate.

When ordered, the candidate fell in next to Mr. Danvers. Then the other anxious youngsters fell into line.