Dick Prescotts's Fourth Year at West Point Part 23

Just an instant later he heard a quick step coming around the north end of the building.

A cadet was coming, beyond a doubt, and very likely to meet this impatient or angry stranger.

Prescott had too much honor to play the eavesdropper. He was just about to step out when the newcomer turned the corner, coming on straight past where Prescott stood in the deep shadow.

The newcomer was a cadet, and that cadet was Mr. Jordan.

"Well, my good fellow, have I kept you waiting long?" demanded Jordan, just the second after he had stepped past d.i.c.k without seeing the latter.

"You could a jumped faster," growled the stranger. "With all I know against you, Jordan, it will pay you to nurse my good feeling a little harder."

"Why, what's the matter with you now?" demanded Jordan more seriously.

Somehow, d.i.c.k could not pull himself away just then.

"Have you brought me some of that money you owe me?" demanded the stranger gruffly.

"Now, you know I can't, before graduation day," pleaded Jordan whiningly.

"And I know that, when graduation day comes, you'll tell me that every dollar you had in the world had to go into uniforms," snapped the stranger. "I'll tell you what I do know about you, Jordan, my boy. I know that if you don't find the money, turn it over and get back my note, you'll never graduate! Cadets can't borrow money on their notes; it's against the regulations. If it was known that you had borrowed five hundred dollars of me already, and that you were defaulting on princ.i.p.al and interest, too-----"

"It wasn't five hundred," broke in Jordan nervously. "It was just two hundred and fifty dollars."

"The note says five hundred," retorted the stranger tersely, with a shrug of his shoulders. And there's interest on it, too. And you haven't paid a dollar. You told me you could get the money from home."

"I---I thought I could, at that," stammered Cadet Jordan. "But I wrote my father, and he said he was near bankruptcy-----"

"Near bankruptcy?" almost screamed the stranger. "You young swindler.

You told me your father was a wealthy man!"

"s.h.!.+" begged Jordan tremulously. "Not so loud! Some one will hear you."

"I don't care who hears me," retorted the stranger in an ugly tone. "You've been swindling me right along, it seems. Now, you'll hand me some money to-night, and all of the balance by next Wednesday, or I'll go straight to the superintendent. Then you'll lose your nice little berth here. You putting on airs, and yet you told me how you had rebuked and paid back another cadet for doing the same breezy thing."

d.i.c.k, his cheeks burning with the shame of having allowed himself to listen to so much, was on the very point of slipping away around the north end of Cullum Hall. But this last remark gripped him, holding him feverishly to the spot.

"Prescott, I believe you said the fellow's name was," went on the stranger.

"Yes," admitted Jordan. "And I put it all over him in a way that should make anyone else afraid of having me for an enemy!"

d.i.c.k's heart gave a great, almost strangling bound. Then it was quiet again, and his ears seemed preternaturally keen.

So sharp was his hearing, in fact, that he heard a sound that did not reach the ears of the other cadet or the latter's companion.

It was someone else coming. With all the stealth in the world d.i.c.k now managed to slip around the end of the building and toward the front.

A cadet had stepped out as though seeking a breath of cool air between dances. d.i.c.k darted forward on tiptoe until he recognized the oncoming one. It was Dougla.s.s, president of the first cla.s.s.

"Mr. Dougla.s.s!" whispered d.i.c.k, stopping squarely before his successor in cla.s.s honors.

Dougla.s.s, without looking at his appealing fellow cla.s.sman, or opening his lips to answer, stepped around Prescott.

But d.i.c.k caught his unwilling comrade firmly by the arm.

"Dougla.s.s," he whispered, "in the name of justice, listen to me just an instant---a swift instant, too! I think the chance has come to clear me of the load of dislike and contempt with which I am regarded here. This appeal is between man and man! Jordan is around the corner, telling a stranger how he trapped me and got me into disgrace with the cla.s.s. As a matter of cadet justice and honor, I beg you to go softly to the corner and hear what is being said. Do not let Jordan suspect that you are near.

What he is saying will clear me. Go, and go softly, I beg you, as a matter of justice from one man to another!"

All the time that d.i.c.k had held his arm Dougla.s.s had stood there, not seeking to s.n.a.t.c.h himself free.

Nor did he utter a word. The cla.s.s president stood there, like a statue, looking straight past Prescott, as though he did not know that such a being existed anywhere in the world.

Now, with despair tugging at his heart, Prescott released his hold.

Cadet Dougla.s.s moved forward again. d.i.c.k stood watching his brother cadet with a feeling of despair until he saw that Dougla.s.s was moving softly. d.i.c.k saw him go quietly around the corner of the building. Now, d.i.c.k was at his heels, stealthy as any Indian could have been, until he looked around the corner and saw that Cadet Dougla.s.s had slipped into the same shadow that d.i.c.k himself had occupied until a moment before.

"Now, if that pair yonder will only go on talking about me for sixty seconds!" thought d.i.c.k in a frenzy.

Again he flew toward the front of the building. There was just one other cadet outside---Durville, the man whom he had been obliged to report for a tremendously grave breach of discipline.

But d.i.c.k Prescott's courage was up now. He raced forward, fairly gripping Durville and holding him tight.

"Durville, listen to me for just a moment," begged d.i.c.k. "I know you don't like me, but you're a man of honor. Jordan is on the east side of this building, and I believe he is confessing a plot that he put into successful operation against me. Dougla.s.s is already there listening. Will you slip there softly, and listen, too? I don't ask this as a matter of friends.h.i.+p, but of honor!

Will you go---and softly?"

Slowly Durville turned and looked into Prescott's eyes. Then he did not speak, but he nodded.

"Thank you, Durville! Be quick---and stealthy! Let me guide you."

Cla.s.s President Dougla.s.s stood in the shadow. He heard Jordan's own tongue telling the stranger the familiar story of how he, Jordan, had been reported for indolence in the bridge construction work.

"I had to get square," Jordan was continuing, just as d.i.c.k piloted Durville within hearing.

"And you think you did it slickly, I suppose?" jeered the stranger.

Though Jordan did not seem to suspect it, the stranger was seeking this information as another blackmailing club to hold over Jordan's head.

"Slick?" queried Jordan, with a sneer. "Well, it wasn't altogether that. There was a good bit of luck in the whole job, too, but Prescott is in Coventry, and there he'll stick, too. He'll be away from here inside of two or three days more."

"How did you manage to do it?" asked the stranger, concealing his anxiety to have Jordan tell the story.

CHAPTER XIV

THE STORY CARRIED ON THE WIND

"Oh, I fixed it all right," insisted Jordan confidently.