le the corps was absent on an infantry practice
march, Laura, her mother and her friend went dejectedly away from
West Point.

CHAPTER VIII

FATE SERVES DICK HER MEANEST TRICK

The furloughed second class returned, the encampment ended and the
corps marched back into cadet barracks.

The new academic year had begun, with new text-books, new studies,
new intellectual torments for the hundreds of ambitious young
soldiers at the United States Military Academy.

By this time both Dick and Greg had acquired the habits of study
so thoroughly that neither any longer feared for his standing or
markings.

To Prescott there was one big comfort about being back in the
old, gray cadet barracks.

The silence put upon Dick was not now quite as much in evidence.
With long study hours, Prescott had not so much need to meet his
classmates.

In the section rooms nothing in the deportment of the other cadets
could emphasize the silence.

It was only in the authorized visiting hours that Prescott noted
the change keenly.

Of course, according to the traditions of the Military Academy,
Anstey and all the other loyal friends who ached to call were
barred from so doing.

While taps sounds at ten o'clock, and members of the three lower
classes must be in bed, with lights out, at the first sound of
taps, first classmen are privileged, whenever they wish, to run
a light until eleven at night, provided the extra time be spent
in study.

One evening in early September, Dick and Greg were both busy at
study table, when Dick chanced to look over some papers connected
with his studies. As he did so, he drew out an officially backed
sheet, and started.

"Jupiter!" he muttered. "I should have turned this in before
supper formation."

"Who gets the report?" asked Greg, looking up.

"It goes to the officer in charge," Dick answered.

"Oh, well, he's up yet. You can slip over to his office with
it," replied Greg easily.

"And I'll do it at once. It may mean a demerit or two, for lack
of punctuality, but I'm glad it's no worse."

Jumping up and donning his fatigue cap, Prescott thrust the neglected
official report into the breast of his uniform blouse, soldier
fashion.

Then he walked slowly out, halting just inside the subdivision
door.

"I don't mind a few demerits, but I don't like to be accused of
unsoldierly neglect," mused the young cadet captain. "Let me
see if I can think up a way of presenting my statem