Dick Prescotts First Year at West Point | Page 4

a rather dazzlingly attired young man of at least twenty-one. He had watched the others and now, with an air of some importance, drew out a roll of considerable size. He detached two fifty-dollar bills and handed them to the treasurer, with the query:
"A century covers the deposit, doesn't it?"
Though the treasurer frowned slightly at the slang use of "century," he replied briskly:
"You must deposit all the money you have, Mr. Geroldstone."
"But that doesn't seem like a square deal," protested young Geroldstone. "I'll need some money for personal expenses, some for little dinners, something to spend on the young"
"You'll need no money here, Mr. Geroldstone. Cadets are allowed no spending money outside of the so-called confectionery allowance, and that is charged to you from your pay."
"But I'm a big candy eater," urged Geroldstone, with a grin.
"No argument, if you please, sir!" rapped the treasurer rather sharply. "Turn over all your money and remember that you are on honor in the matter."
Mr. Geroldstone received a receipt for nine hundred and sixty-two dollars, plus a few small coins. As he turned away he muttered to one of his predecessors:
"Say, ain't that a good deal like a hold up?"
"Remember, young gentlemen, all the money you have," admonished the treasurer, as the line started to move again.
Thus commanded, the candidates went through all their pockets while standing awaiting their own turns.
Dick and Greg had so well calculated their traveling expenses that each turned in about twenty dollars above the required one hundred dollars.
This little transaction completed, the orderly turned and marched them back at once to the hospital.
By this time some of the candidates had sufficiently overcome their nervousness to realize how raw and chilly this first day of March was. All of the candidates wore overcoats, though the outer garments worn by some of the young men, especially those who had journeyed hither from Southern States, were not of a weight to meet the March demands at hilly West Point, which lies exposed to the icy northern blasts down the Hudson River.
It looked as though it might snow at any moment. There was "ice in the air," as Greg Holmes expressed it.
So it was a welcome relief to all of the young candidates to find themselves once more inside the hospital building.
They were taken into the same room. During their absence the hospital corps orderly had distributed blankets, one on each chair.
"Each of you will please strip now," announced the same young medical officer, coming briskly into the room. "Strip as quickly as you can. Each man take a blanket and wrap it around himself while waiting."
Some of the young men looked startled, but all obeyed. In this stripping, and in the varied degrees of orderliness with which the different stacks of discarded clothing were piled it was rather easy to pick out the young men who had previously undressed in the dressing quarters of schools or colleges where athletics are a big feature.
"If we had a few tom-tom players we'd be ready with a fine imitation of an Indian war dance," muttered one of the candidates, gazing about him at his blanketed companions. There was a laugh, of course. These highly nervous youngsters were ready to laugh at anything just now.
"Is Mr. Geroldstone ready ?" asked the hospital orderly, marching into the room.
"I will be, in five minutes or so," replied Geroldstone, slowly pulling his shirt off over his head.
"Mr. Danvers, then," called the orderly, consulting a slip of paper in his right hand.
Candidate Frank Danvers, a good-looking young man, self-contained, slight of build, not very tall, but very black as to hair, stepped forward.
"In here, sir," requested the hospital orderly, holding open the door. After Danvers had gone the other young men held their breath for a few moments-all except Geroldstone, who was still leisurely disrobing.
Back came Danvers after a few moments. Every candidate in the room looked at him inquiringly.
"Yes, gentlemen; I'm very happy to say that I passed," nodded Danvers, as he sprang across the room and began to don his clothes once niore.
"Mr. Geroldstone!" called the orderly, and the big candidate went in.
An anxious twenty minutes passed-anxious alike for Geroldstone and for those who still dangled on tenterhooks in the outer room.
At last the candidate under fire came out, a sickly grin on his face. Though the others looked at him curiously, not a word did Geroldstone offer.
"The big fellow has failed; I'll bet," muttered Greg Holmes. "I'm sorry for him, poor fellow."
Still another candidate was now undergoing the ordeal inside. When he came out, nodding contentedly, the summons sounded:
"Mr. Prescott!"
"Brace up, Dick! You're all right," whispered Greg, with an affectionate pat on the shoulder as young Prescott rose, and, wrapping the blanket nervously around him, went through the doorway.
The same young medical officer, Lieutenant Herman, was in