Dick Prescotts First Year at West Point | Page 2

introduced to Dick Prescott and
Greg Holmes. Such readers will well remember these two manly young
Americans as members of that famous sextette, "Dick & Co.," famous
in the annals of the good old Gridley High School.
Nor will such readers need to be told how Dick won, over the heads of
forty competitors, the nomination of Congressman Spokes, the boy
carrying all before him in a rigid competitive examination at the
Gridley High School. The same readers will remember how Greg
Holmes secured his own nomination from Senator Frayne. This was all
related in the closing volume of the High School Series, "THE HIGH
SCHOOL CAPTAIN OF THE TEAM."
Our former readers will also recall that Dave Darrin and Dan Daizell
"ran away" with the nominations for cadetships at Annapolis, while
Tom Reade and Harry Hazelton, the last of famous Dick & Co., went
West seeking their careers as young engineers.
To be a cadet at West Point, and then to blossom out as an officer in the
Regular Army-this had long been Dick's fondest hope. Greg, too, had
caught the Army fever, and now suffered from it as severely as Dick
Prescott himself.
And now, at what seemed like the critical moment, this tedious waiting
was almost maddening.
Before Mr. Ward's desk stood a lonely looking young man, red faced
and fidgeting as though he were going through a fearful ordeal.

"What on earth can they be doing to that fellow?" wondered Greg, in a
barely audible undertone. "That fine-looking old gentleman can't be
hazing a cadet?"
"No; but I wonder what the ordeal is," Dick whispered back. "I haven't
seen a fellow look. comfortable through it yet."
"Mr. Prescott!"
Dick started to his feet so suddenly that his right almost tripped over
his left.
One of the other candidates near by tittered. That caused Dick's face to
turn redder than ever.
Mr. Ward, however, looked up at the boy with a kindly smile.
"State your full name, Mr. Prescott."
Dick did so.
"When and where born? Give date and place."
By this time Dick was beginning to find his voice. The excess of color
began to recede from his face. He. had already, almost unconsciously,
passed over the sealed envelope which he had received from the
adjutant in a room on the same floor at headquarters.
Prescott was quickly breathing at his ease. He discovered that the entire
ordeal consisted of giving his family history, with dates.
Then he stepped back. Another name was called.
"Don't let that rattle you a bit, Greg," whispered Dick, when he had
dropped back into his seat beside his chum. "Mr. Ward doesn't do
anything but take your pedigree."
"Mr. Holmes!"

Greg got up with nearly all of his self-possession about him. He was
just returning to sit by his chum when the nattiest, sprucest- looking
soldier imaginable, wearing the olive-drab fatigue uniform of the Army
and overcoat to match, stepped into the room.
"The surgeons have directed me to bring down all the candidates who
are through here," the orderly announced. "Follow me to the sidewalk,
where you will fall in loosely, by twos, and follow me to the cadet
hospital."
Among those of the candidates who had finshed giving their pedigrees
there was a rush that would put a spectator in mind almost of a football
scrimmage. It represented merely the feverish anxiety of these young
men to get through with the next stage in their awe-filled day.
"There are some marching down with us who won't be marching with
us to the next place, I am afraid," whispered Holmes.
"I imagine so," whispered Dick, with a nod.
"Say," murmured Greg, his cheek suddenly blanching, "just how much
chest expansion do the surgeons demand in the case of a fellow
standing five-seven in his stocking feet?"
There was a note almost of panic in Greg's voice.
"Cheer up, Greg!" urged Dick, whose own lace was again flushing.
"You've got chest expansion enough for a heavy-weight prize fighter."
"You must have the same, then. Is that so?" demanded Holmes. "What
makes your face so red?"
"Just wondering," admitted Prescott, in a low voice, "whether I ever
contracted any symptoms of football-player's heart."
"Bosh!" muttered Greg. "I never heard of any such disease."
"I never did either," Dick fidgeted. "But in the hour I've been at West
Point I've concluded that people here know a heap of things that aren't

even guessed at in the outside world."
"O-o-o-h! Say! Look!" murmured Greg in deep awe and admiring
wonder. "They must be cadets!"
Eight, young men in gray, marshaled by a section marcher, went
swinging up the road with a marching rhythm so. perfect that it was
like music.
Each of these young men was clad in flawless gray, with black stripes
and facings. Each