Dick Prescotts Second Year at West Point | Page 5

was already in his own tent, out of sight.
"After what I've just said," announced Dick grimly, "I think I know of a plebe who requires some correction."
"Listen to our preacher!" jeered Furlong.

CHAPTER II
PLEBE BRIGGS LEARNS A FEW THINGS
"Anstey!" called Prescott softly across the company street.
"Oh, was it you idiots?" demanded the Virginian, showing his wrathful looking face.
"No," replied Dick. "Come over as quickly as you can."
It took Anstey a few minutes to dry himself, and to rearray himself, for the Virginian's sense of dignity would not permit him to go visiting in the drenched garments in which he had awakened.
"Which one of you was it?" demanded Anstey, as he finally entered the tent of Furlong and his bunkies.
"No one here," Dick replied. "The other gentlemen don't even know what happened, for I haven't told them."
So Anstey withdrew his look of suspicion from the five cadets. No cadet may ever lie; not even to a comrade in the corps. Any cadet who utters a lie, and is detected in it, is ostracized as being unfit for the company of gentlemen. So, when Dick's prompt denial came, Anstey believed, as he was obliged to do.
"It was a plebe, Mace," continued Dick.
"I'll have all but his life, then!" cried the southerner fiercely.
"I wouldn't even think of it. The offender is only a cub," urged Dick. "If you accept my advice, Mace, you won't even call the poor blubber out. We'll just summon him here, and make the little imp so ashamed of himself that the lesson ought to last him through the rest of his plebedom. I'm cooler than you are at this moment, Mace, but none the less disgusted. Will you let me handle this affair?"
"Yes," agreed Anstey quickly.
As for Furlong, Griffin and Dobbs, it was "just nuts" for them to see their class president, lately so stately on the subject of hazing, now actually proposing to take a plebe sternly in hand. The three bunkies exchanged grins.
"Tell us, Mace," continued Dick, "have you had any occasion to take Mr. Briggs in hand at any time?
"So it was Mr. Briggs?" demanded Anstey angrily, turning toward the door.
"Wait! Have you taken Mr. Briggs in hand at any time?"
"Yes," admitted Anstey. "When you and Holmesy were out, last evening, I had Mr. Briggs in our tent for grinning at me and failing to say 'sir' when he addressed me."
"You put him through some performances?"
"Nothing so very tiresome," replied Anstey. "I made him brace for five minutes, and then go through the silent manual of arms for five more."
"Humph! That wasn't much!" grunted Furlong.
"I guess that was why Mr. Briggs felt that he had to get square," mused Dick aloud. "But a plebe is not allowed to get square by doing anything b.j."
Again Anstey turned as if to go out, but Dick broke in:
"Don't do it, Mace. Try, for the next half hour, to keep as cool as an iceberg. Trust the treatment of the impish plebe to us. Greg, old fellow, will you be the one to go down and tell Mr. Briggs that his presence in this tent is desired immediately?"
Plebe Briggs was alone in his tent, his bunkies being absent on a visit in another tent. Mr. Briggs was still grinning broadly as he remembered the roar with which Anstey had acknowledged the big splash.
But of a sudden Mr. Briggs's grin faded like the mist, for Greg was at the doorway.
"Mr. Briggs, your presence is desired at once at Mr. Furlong's tent."
"Yes, sir," replied the plebe meekly. He got up with an alacrity that he did not feel, but which was the result of the new soldierly habit. Mr. Briggs threw on his campaign hat and a raincoat, but, by the time he was outside of the tent, Holmes was just disappearing under canvas up the company street.
"I guess I'm in for it," muttered the plebe sheepishly, as he strode up the street. "Confound it, can a yearling see just as well when he's asleep as when he's awake?"
He halted before Furlong's tent, rapping on the pole.
"Mr. Briggs, sir."
"Come in, Mr. Briggs."
The plebe stepped into the tent, drawing himself up and standing at attention.
For some seconds none of the yearlings spoke. In fact, only Dick looked at the fourth classman.
"Mr. Briggs," demanded Prescott at last, "where is your bucket?"
"In my tent, sir."
"You will fill it, and report back here with it at once."
"Very good, sir."
"Now, what on earth is coming?" quaked the plebe, as he possessed himself of his bucket and started for the nearest tap.
In the shortest time possible the young man reported hack at the tent, his bucket as full of water as it would safely carry.
"Set the bucket down, Mr. Briggs, at the rear of the tent."
The plebe obeyed, then stood once more at attention.
"Mr. Briggs," continued the president