"Time!" called Lieutenant Stiver, who acted as Dutton's second.
The two youths faced each other, but dispensed with the ceremony of shaking hands. The next moment Dutton aimed a blow at Dick's face, but our hero cleverly dodged and sent a stiff right hander to the cadet captain's jaw.
The shock of the blow made Dutton stagger back, but he quickly regained his balance, and rushed at Dick, raising his foot to give him a kick.
"Hold on, that's not fair!" cried Paul. "Do you stand for that, Stiver?"
Stiver plainly wanted to side with Dutton, but there were cries of "Shame! That's not fair!" from several in the crowd and Dutton's second was forced to caution his man.
"Don't do that, Dutton," he said. "You can lick him with your fists."
"Yes, and I'll fix him, all right!" exclaimed the angry cadet captain.
Dick, who had stepped back, out of reach of his opponent's foot, now stood up to meet the rush of Dutton.
"There! I guess that will teach you to make insinuations about me!" spluttered the angry lad, as he aimed a fierce blow at Dick. Our hero easily dodged it, however, and countered with a stiff upper cut, which gave Dutton quite a jolt.
Dick was not quite quick enough in getting away, however, and received a blow on the chest, which he did not mind, much. Then Dutton closed in, and both boys exchanged several severe blows, but Dick had the best of it, for he had taken boxing lessons from an experienced instructor at home.
"Go in and do him!" called Dutton's friends.
"Stand up to him, Dick," advised Paul, in low tones at the conclusion of the first round. "You've got him going."
Dutton tried to be calm as he came up the second time, but he speedily lost his temper, as he saw how easily Dick parried his blows.
"Why don't you stand up and fight?" he asked.
"Why don't you hit me?" retorted Dick, as he tapped his antagonist on the nose, making it bleed slightly.
"I'll pay you for that!" cried Dutton, rushing forward.
"Not so loud!" cautioned Stiver. "You'll bring some of the professors down on us."
Once more Dick dodged a straight left hander, and, in return, sent in a terrific right, that caught Dutton on the point of the jaw. The cadet went down like a log, and lay still.
"You've knocked him out, Hamilton," remarked one of the older cadets, who acted as referee. "I congratulate you."
"Yes, he fought well," added another, but there was no heartiness in his tones, and, to Dick, it seemed almost as if they were sorry he had won.
For won he had, as Dutton did not arise. He had been fairly, but harmlessly, knocked out.
"Do you throw up the sponge?" asked Paul, of Stiver.
"I guess so," was the rather surly response. "Your man wins."
"I hope I didn't hurt him," said Dick. "I didn't mean to hit so hard, but he rushed right into it."
"You didn't hurt me!" suddenly exclaimed Dutton, as he struggled to his feet. "I'm game yet."
"You've had enough," said his second. "You can have another try later."
"I can do him," mumbled Dutton, but even his friends were forced to admit that he had been well beaten.
"Will you shake hands?" asked Dick, advancing toward his antagonist.
"No!" exclaimed Dutton, surlily.
A hot flush came to Dick's face, and he was about to turn away when, the older cadet, who had complimented him said:
"Shake hands, Dutton. Don't be a cad."
This was equivalent to a command, and Dutton grudingly complied.
"Do you think he will be better friends with you after this?" asked Paul, as he and Dick walked away together.
Dick was right. Though he had gained the victory he had whipped one of the most popular cadets, which Dutton was, in spite of his caddishness.
Our hero's victory took nothing away from the regard in which Dutton was held, while, as for Dick, save a few friends whom he had made among the younger lads, he was not admitted to the comradeship of the older cadets, to which place, of right, he belonged. The fight had not made him popular, as he had hoped it would, after he had won it, though the sporting element in the academy could not but admire his fistic abilities.
"I don't seem to be making much progress," remarked Dick to his roommate, one afternoon. "You have more friends than I have."
"Oh, I don't think so."
"Yes, you have. It would be different, if I was at home, but here, everyone seems to follow Dutton's lead, and turns a cold shoulder to me."
"Maybe you'll have more acquaintances next term."
"I doubt it. I wish I could get in with the fellows. They'll be making up the football eleven, soon, and I'd like a chance to play."
"Do you play?"
"I did at home. I was right half-back. But I don't s'pose I'll have any show here."
"I tell you what you might do," said Paul, after a pause. "Why don't you give a spread?"
"A spread?"
"Yes, a feast, you know. You can get permission to have it in one of the rooms, and you can invite a lot of the fellows. Several of the new fellows have done that, and some of them got proposed for membership in the Sacred Pig society."
This was one of the exclusive secret organizations of the academy, and Dick, as well as many others, wished to join. But one had to be invited to apply for membership, and only those students on whom the seal of approval was set by the older cadets had this honor.
"Do you think that would do any good?" asked Dick.
"It might."
"Then I'll try. Here's a chance where I can use some of my money. If this plan doesn't work, I have another that I'll spring."
"What is it?"
"Well, I don't want to say yet. I may want to get you to help me at it, though."
"I'll do anything I can."
"I know you will, Paul. I wish there were more like you."
Dick obtained permission from Colonel Masterly to give a spread in one of the barrack rooms, and he made elaborate preparations for it. A town caterer was given orders to supply a fine supper, and then Dick sent out his invitations. He included all the lads in his class, and every member of the so-called "sporting crowd."
"Are you going to invite Dutton?" asked Paul.
"Of course. I want him more than all the others. If he would drop his hard feelings we could be friends."
"After he tried to get you into trouble about your dog, and the firing of the cannon?"
"Do you think he did?"
"I'm sure of it, and so are lots of others."
"Captain Hayden can't seem to find out anything about it."
"No, because all of Dutton's cronies are keeping mum. But I'm sure he did it."
"Well, I'll forgive him, if he'll be friends. I got even by whipping him, I guess."
"Perhaps, though I don't believe he thinks so."
Dick received acceptances from nearly all the lads in his class, but regarding the others he heard nothing, and did not know whether they would come or not. He hoped they would—particularly Dutton and his chums.
On the afternoon of the evening on which Dick's spread was to come off, he met Dutton and Stiver on the campus.
"Let's see, isn't your spread to-morrow night?" asked Stiver, with studied carelessness.
"It's to-night," said Dick, pleasantly. "I hope you are both coming."
"I'll see," answered Stiver.
"Is there going to be anything to drink?" asked Dutton with a covert sneer.
"Lemonade," replied Dick promptly.
"Is that all? I should think a millionaire cadet like you would provide champagne; or at least beer."
"It's against the rules," said Dick.
"Then you'll have some cigars."
"No."
"Cigarettes then?"
"No."
"I suppose you'll give us malted milk and crackers," sneered Dutton, as he turned aside. "I don't think that will suit us. Eh, Stiver?"
"No indeed. I thought you wanted to be a sport, Hamilton?"
"I don't care about breaking rules," replied Dick. "Besides, I don't use tobacco or liquor."
"Ah, he's a regular Sunday school brand of millionaire," remarked Dutton, with a mean laugh. "He gives his money to the heathen, instead of buying cigars. Come on, Stiver."
At Dick's spread, that night, only a few freshmen came, and, though they tried to be jolly, the affair was a dismal failure, after the elaborate preparations that had been made. None of Dutton's friends came, and not a member of the sporting element.
"Dutton told 'em to stay away," said Paul, as he and Dick went to their room, after it was all over.
"I suppose so," answered Dick gloomily, and there was a heavy feeling in his heart, that the thought of all his wealth could not lighten.
He was beginning to realize what it meant to fulfill the conditions of his mother's will.
"Say, Dick," remarked Paul, the next morning, as they leaped out of bed at the sound of the bugle giving the first call, "that spread must have cost you a pretty penny."
"I don't mind that a bit," replied the young millionaire, as he struggled into his uniform. "I'd be willing to spend a lot more if only the fellows would have come. But there's no use crying over spilled milk, as my dad says. Hurry up, Paul. Get this room in shape, or we'll be in for some bad marks at inspection."
The cadets quickly had their apartment in good order, and then got ready for breakfast.
They were a fine lot of cadets who filed into the mess hall a little later, well set-up young fellows, each with his uniform spick and span, marching with regular step that nearly approached the perfection of the trained soldier. For, such was the discipline at Kentfield, that even green lads quickly fell into the routine, and by this time Dick and the other freshmen carried themselves almost as well as did the senior students.
"Ah, that'll be some fun," remarked Paul, as they were leaving the mess-hall after the meal.
"What?" asked Dick.
"Target practice. There's a notice on the bulletin board that we're to have it right after the first study period. Are you a good shot?"
"I used to be, but the guns here are heavier than I'm accustomed to. I don't believe I can do as well."
"Oh, I guess you can. I hear that some of the third year lads can't do very extra."
There were two target ranges at Kentfield, one for long distance shooting, in the open, and the other in a rifle pit, indoors. It was there that a number of the cadets and their officers assembled a little later. Toots, who was a sort of janitor about the pits, was on hand.
"Ah, Toots, going to show us how to shoot to-day?" asked a student.
"Sure," replied Sam. "I'll give you a few lessons. Lend me your gun."
"Here you go, Tootsy old chap," added another cadet, passing over his rifle.
As all the cadets had not yet arrived discipline was rather lax, and the officers made no objection.
"Here's where I crack the bullseye first shot!" exclaimed Toots. He handled the gun as though he had long been used to it, and took quick aim. A sharp report followed, but there was no corresponding "ping" of the target to indicate a shot.
"Ha! Ha! Toots, you missed it altogether," cried Russell Glen, a first-year and somewhat sporty student in Dick's class.
"No, I didn't neither!" objected Sam. "It went clean through the target, that's why you didn't hear it. I'm a crack shot I am."
He really appeared to believe it, and was much disappointed when the marker called back that the bullet had gone about a foot over the target.
"Try again, Toots," said Glen.
"I will. This time I'll go right in the center."
Once more he fired, and the resulting laugh told that he had again missed.
"I guess this is your off day," observed Captain Dutton.
"Looks like it," remarked Toots ruefully, as he walked off, whistling "In a Prison Cell I Sit," and ending with the bugle call to charge.
The target practice soon began, and Dick, to his own surprise, made a good score, getting forty-nine out of a possible fifty.
"We have decided to have a practice march, around the lake, to-morrow," Major Webster announced to the cadets after target practice was over. "Fatigue uniforms of khaki will be worn, and the affair will last all day. Lunch will be taken in the field. You know the regulations, Captain Dutton, so inform your command of them, and be ready after reveille to-morrow."
The major paused, Captain Dutton saluted, and his superior officer turned away, his sword clanking at his heels.
"A practice march!" exclaimed Paul to Dick. "That will be sport."
"It sure will," added Dick.
"Silence in the ranks;" cried Dutton, in a dictatorial manner. "Lieutenant Stiver, watch Hamilton, I think he talks altogether too much."
It was an unjust accusation, but Dick knew better than to answer back.
That afternoon further instructions were issued regarding the practice march. The cadets would take one ration with them, and a wagon containing utensils for making coffee, etc., would accompany the amateur soldiers. They would have their rifles with them, and, during the day would have practice in skirmish firing, in throwing up trenches, and advancing on an imaginary enemy.
They started off soon after breakfast, led by Colonel Masterly, Major Rockford and Major Webster, while the cadet officers were in charge of the four companies, A, B, C and D.
It was a fine day in October, just right for a march, and the cadets presented a neat appearance, as, headed by the superior officers on horseback, they marched along the shores of the lake, off towards a wooded plain. The boys were attired in blue flannel shirts, khaki trousers and leggings.
"I hope they have more of these hikes before winter," remarked Paul to Dick.
"'Hike?' is that what you call 'em?"
"That's what the regulars do. It's a good name, I think."
"It sure is. Say, you get a fine view of the lake here."
The boys talked on, for there were no rules against it, and the experience of the march was a new one for many of them, including Dick.
They reached some suitable ground about ten o'clock and on orders from Major Webster the companies were formed into one command, under his direction. Then, an imaginary enemy having been located in a clump of woodland, the cadets were sent forward on the run, in skirmish parties, firing at will, and in volleys.
"Advance, and form trenches!" suddenly ordered the major.
The lads, using their bayonets as spades, and scooping the dirt up with their hands, soon formed shallow ditches, with an embankment of earth in front, and, lying prone behind this, ruthlessly mowed down the ranks of the enemy who still refused to show himself.
The rattle and bang of the rifles, the clouds of smoke, the flashes of fire, mingled with the hoarse commands of the major who was a war veteran; the rushing forward of the cadets, and their activity in digging trenches, made the scene one of excitement. It was glorious sport, Dick thought.
Tired, dusty and warm, though willing to keep at this war game indefinitely, the young soldiers finally reached the edge of the woods, where, having dislodged the enemy, they were conceded to have won a victory, and the march was again taken up.
A halt for dinner was made beside a little brook. Toots, who had charge of the provision wagon brought it up, and proceeded to build fires to make coffee.
"Toots, you old scoundrel," affectionately exclaimed a senior cadet, "did you bring the cream for my coffee?"
"Yes, Mr. Morton. I brought a jug full," replied Toots, who entered into the spirit of the fun.
"And I want a white table cloth," stipulated another.
"I've got one up my sleeve," answered Toots, busying himself about the wagon.
Campfires were soon ablaze, and the appetizing smell of coffee and steaks filled the air. The cadets opened their haversacks, and were preparing to eat, having formed into little informal groups, each company by itself.
"Say, Stiver," remarked Dutton, to his lieutenant, looking at a field of late sweet corn, which was near where they were camped, "I'd like a few of those ears to roast. How about you?"
"Sure's you're a foot high; but you know the orders. Mustn't do any foraging."
"Ah, what's the rule between friends? Besides, Colonel Masterly and Major Webster are away over on the other side of the woods. Send some of the freshmen after some corn."
"I'm not going to. You can if you want to."
"I will. Here, Boardman, you and Booker and Hamilton go and get some of that green corn."
"I'll not," replied Dick promptly, who knew that this refusal to obey his superior officer would be upheld, if, indeed, Dutton would dare prefer a charge against him.
"Afraid, eh?" sneered the young captain. "Very well, then, you take Hamilton's place, Butler."
The three lads designated, either being afraid to incur Dutton's displeasure, or because they wanted some of the corn, quietly sneaked into the field, and quickly returned with big armsful, which were soon put to roast, the husks being concealed under the leaves in the woods.
"Maybe, you'll have some?" asked Dutton, in sneering tones, of Dick, as the captain and his cronies began eating the roast corn.
"No thank you. Not that I don't like it, but I prefer to get it another way."
Dick felt that he was putting himself further than ever beyond the pale of his comrades' liking by his conduct, but he could not help it.
The lunch was almost over, and most of the corn had disappeared, when an elderly man, evidently a farmer, crawled through the fence near where Dick's company was. There was an angry look on his face.
"Which of you lads stole my corn?" he demanded. "And besides that you trampled down a lot. Who done it? That's what I want to know."
There was no need to answer. The evidences of the stolen corn were all about.
"I'm going to report this to Colonel Masterly," said the farmer, striding off toward where the superintendent was talking to the two majors.
"Hold on!" cried Dutton, springing to his feet. "Wait a minute, Mr.—er—Mr.—"
"No, you can't come any game like that over me!" cried the angry farmer. "You stole my corn, and trampled a lot of it down. That's agin orders, an' I know it. I'll report to your superior officers, and we'll see how you'll like it."
"But—er—but I say—" stammered Dutton, wishing he could do something to placate the man, for he knew that all the blame would fall on him, and that he would be severely dealt with; perhaps reduced to the ranks.
"No. I'll not listen to you," replied the farmer. "I'm going to report to Colonel Masterly."
"Now look at the mess you've got us into, Dutton," said Stiver. "Why couldn't you let the corn alone."
"Shut up!" retorted the cadet captain. "I say, Mr.—Mr. Farmer," he called after the man.
"My name's not Farmer, but I know what yours will be; it'll be Mud, soon. I'll teach you tin soldiers to spoil my corn."
There were murmurs among the cadets. They feared lest the whole company might be punished. But a scheme had come into Dick Hamilton's mind. Without asking permission from Dutton he hurried after the farmer.
"How much will pay for the damage to your corn, and what the boys took," he asked quietly, holding out a roll of bills, for Dick never was without a substantial sum.
"Now you're talking, sonny," said the farmer, a different look coming into his face. "Why didn't that captain of yours say so at first?"
"What's the damage?" asked Dick. From experience he had learned that cash will make up for almost any kind of a hurt.
"Wa'al, seein' as that was particularly fine corn, I'll have to charge you ten dollars for what ye took, and what damage ye done."
"Ten dollars! That's too much!" cried Paul Drew. "Don't pay it, Dick."
"Wa'al, then I'll see the colonel. I guess he'll pay that, rather than have his school sued," said the angry man.
"Here are ten dollars," said Dick quietly, handing over a bill. "I guess the boys found the corn worth it," he added with a smile.
"That's all right," said the farmer, as he pocketed the money. "I wouldn't 'a made a fuss if I'd a knowed you was goin' to pay for it. I'm reasonable, I am."
"Not at selling corn," murmured Paul, as the man went back into his field.
"Hurrah for Hamilton!" cried several cadets, who realized what Dick's action meant for them. "He's all right."
"He got us out of a bad scrape," observed Lieutenant Stiver. "My record won't stand many more demerits."
But instead of thanking Dick, Dutton turned aside. He acted as if he disliked to be under any obligations to the cadet who he so unreasonably hated.
"Hamilton wanted to show off, and let us see that he had money," said the captain, contemptuously. "I suppose we ought to vote him a medal—a gold one, studded with diamonds, seeing that he's a millionaire."
"That's not right, Ray," murmured Stiver in a low tone. "He's got us out of a hole."
"I don't care! I wish he'd take himself out of this academy. We don't want millionaires here."
Probably most of Dutton's feeling toward Dick, was due to jealousy, for Ray's father, though wealthy, was far from being as rich as Mr. Hamilton.
Dick bit his lip, to keep back a sharp reply at the unjust construction put upon his act.
"I shouldn't do anything for him again," whispered Paul.
"Well, I did it for the whole company, as much as for him," replied the young millionaire. "In another minute Colonel Masterly would have heard the row, and there'd been the mischief to pay."
The march was resumed after dinner and academy was reached in time for supper. The cadets were much pleased with their practice "hike," while the officers were complimented on the order they had maintained.
"I guess the colonel would preach a different sort of a sermon if he knew about the corn," remarked Paul, as he and Dick started for their quarters.
"Well, as long as he doesn't know, there's no harm done."
"My, but I'm tired," announced Paul, as he undressed. "I'm glad we don't have any lessons to-morrow."
"What do we have?"
"Artillery drill. Have you forgotten?"
"That's so. I had. I've got to ride one of the leading horses too. Guess there'll be plenty of excitement."
"Shouldn't wonder. I'm on the gun-carriage, where I reckon I'll be shaken so my liver pin will fall out."
"I'll try not to let it. There go taps. Douse the glim."
The two cadets crawled into bed and were soon asleep.
Artillery drill at the Kentfield academy was as near like the real article as possible. The guns were four-inch field pieces, each drawn by six horses, the two leaders being ridden by cadets, while seven men were on the gun itself, an arrangement somewhat different from that in the regular army. Real ammunition was used in practice, the pieces being directed at target placed against a hill of soft dirt, in which the balls buried themselves.
The artillery practice began soon after morning inspection. The cadets had all been instructed in how to load, aim and fire the field pieces, and had also had practice in driving the artillery into place. For the first time, however, they were now to indulge in this under the critical eye of an officer from the regular army, who was visiting the academy.
The first part of the drill consisted in firing at targets, before horses were hitched to the guns. The cadets did well at this, the different squads making good scores. Dick, who was detailed at the breech, had a chance to aim. He thought he sighted perfectly, but when it was fired the ball did not hit the target cleanly. It was the last shot in that particular part of the tactics, and it left Dick's squad with the lowest record.
"That's all your fault, Hamilton!" cried Captain Dutton angrily. "Why didn't you aim that right? Then we'd have had a chance to make a good score."
"I did aim it right, but the gun must have shifted. Maybe one of the wheels was on a small stone."
"Nonsense. It's your stupidity. You've lost us a good mark."
Dutton angrily slammed the breech-block shut. Dick gave a start, but stifled the cry of pain that he was ready to give utterance to, for one of his fingers was caught in the breech, and the blood spurted from it, as the angry captain closed the gun.
"Open the breech! Quick!" cried Paul, who had seen what had happened.
"What's that?" asked Dutton, who had turned aside.
Dick's roommate did not answer. Instead he took hold of the block with both hands, and wrenched it open, releasing our hero, whose white face showed the pain he suffered.
"Sorry I hurt you," said Dutton, calmly. "You shouldn't have had your finger there. I suppose you can't drive now, in the next test."
"I'll drive," said Dick, grimly, as he bound his handkerchief tightly around his finger, to stop the bleeding. The nail was smashed, and it was very painful.
"Then hurry up, and get the horses. They're ready to begin."
This test was a difficult one. In turn the different gun squads were to approach a certain spot on the gallop. They were to go through a narrow passage, indicated by stakes stuck into the ground, and, at the end were to suddenly wheel the gun, fire three shots, and continue on at a gallop to the end of the course. If any of the stakes were touched it counted against the squad, and other points were won or lost by the speed and accuracy of firing.
In spite of his pain Dick mounted his horse, and was soon ready, with 'Gene Graham, who was to ride the other steed, to start off with the field piece.
A squad from Company B went first. They cleared the stakes nicely, and did good work in wheeling and firing.
"I hope we beat them," murmured Captain Dutton, who was on the gun carriage.
Dick grimly resolved that if he had anything to do with it they would.
Company C's team came next, and did well, but the off horse struck a stake.
"Don't let that happen, Hamilton," cautioned Captain Dutton, as it came their turn.
Dick and Graham urged their animals to a gallop, and with a deep rumble the gun followed after them. On and on they went, toward the narrow lane formed by the upright stakes. Dick's heart was beating hard as he neared them. Would he clear them?
With unerring eye the young millionaire guided his animal, and so did Graham. With folded arms, and almost as stiff as ramrods, the cadets sat on the gun carriage. The leading horses were at the first stakes now, but the real test would come when the wide gun carriage reached them.
"Go on!" yelled Dick to his horse, a swift pace being most essential in order to keep on a straight course.
Dick gave a glance back. One wheel seemed about to hit a stake, but he quickly swerved his horse and the danger was averted. They got through without touching, and at a swifter pace than had any of their competitors. A burst of cheers from the watching cadets, and some visitors, rewarded them.
"Careful now!" cautioned Captain Dutton, as Dick wheeled his horse about.
Whether the animal was frightened at the cheering, or whether Dick, because of his injured finger, did not have a proper hold of the reins, was never known but, at that instant, the horse suddenly swerved, turning almost at right angles, and pulling off the course. So quickly was it done that it seemed as if the gun and carriage would upset, injuring several of the lads.
But Dick was equal to the occasion. Though the strain, which he had to put on the reins hurt his wounded hand very much, he never flinched. With a steady pull, and a sharp word of command, he swung his horse's head around, and just in time to avoid sending the gun over sideways.
Then, with a smart blow of his hand on the animal's flank Dick set him to a sharp gallop. Graham's steed, which had been pulled from his stride, regained it, and the horses behind, straightening out of the confusion into which they had been thrown, leaped forward, pulling the rumbling gun after them. Through it all, and in spite of their narrow escape, the cadets on the carriage had not so much as unfolded their arms.
On toward the place where they were to fire Dick and Graham rushed their horses. A moment later they wheeled them, the cadets leaped down, the gun was unlimbered, a shot rammed home, and the men stood at attention.
"Fire!" cried Captain Dutton.
A puff of white smoke, a sliver of flame and then a deep boom, while a black ball was hurled toward the distant target.
Twice more this was repeated, and then the gun was limbered, or attached to the limber, the forward part of the carriage, and the horses galloped off with it. Dick's squad had made a perfect score, in spite of the actions of his horse, and the cadets that came after them failed, so Captain Dutton's men won in the test.
But Dick felt sick and faint from the pain in his finger which had started to bleeding again, because of the strain caused by the reins.
"Very well done, young gentlemen—very well done indeed," complimented Colonel Masterly, as Dick and his fellow cadets came driving slowly past where the head of the academy sat with some visitors, and the army officer.
"Indeed, the regulars will have to look to their laurels when such lads as these are doing as well as that," observed the officer. "I thought they were going to have a spill there, at one time. But the lad on the off horse saved the day. Who is he?"
"Millionaire Hamilton's son," said the superintendent in a low voice, yet not so low but that Dick heard him.
"I wish they wouldn't refer to me that way," he thought. "I'd like to be myself once in a while—just Dick Hamilton. Money isn't what it's cracked up to be."
"Why, Hamilton, are you hurt?" asked Major Webster, as Dick guided his horse to the place where the animals would be unhitched. He looked at the red-stained handkerchief around the young millionaire's hand.
"Just a scratch," replied Dick bravely, though the pain of his crushed finger made him wince. "I caught it in the gun. It doesn't amount to anything."
He saw Dutton looking at him, and he fancied he detected a sneer on the cadet captain's face.
"Well, go to the surgeon, and have it dressed," said the major. "We don't want you to get blood poison. Is yours the only injury of the day?"
"I guess so," replied Dick, with an attempted laugh.
"A scratch!" exclaimed the surgeon, when Dick had so characterized the wound, as he came to have it dressed. "Well, I wouldn't want many scratches like that. Why the top of the finger is crushed. You shouldn't have kept on after you got this."
"I'd have to if we were fighting in earnest," was all Dick said, and he gritted his teeth hard to keep from screaming out when the surgeon dressed the wound.
Fortunately the remainder of the week was devoted to the more quieter forms of military life, the cadets spending considerable time in studying, drilling and reciting.
One afternoon word was sent to Dick, who was studying in his room, that a visitor desired to see him.
"Who is it?" he asked the housekeeper, who brought the message.
"I don't know. It's a gentleman from Hamilton Corners."
"I hope it's some of the boys," murmured Dick. "Or even a sight of 'Hank' Darby would be welcome," for, in spite of the activities at Kentfield, Dick was a bit homesick.
He found waiting for him Captain Handlee.
"I come to see if you had any news of my son," said the veteran pitifully. "I'm about to go out west on a clue I have, but I thought I'd stop off here."
"No," replied Dick, "I'm sorry, but I haven't any news for you. I wrote you about my inquiries."
"Yes, I know, but I hoped something might have happened since then."
"No, I regret to say, there hasn't. But how does it come that you're going out west?"
"Well, I have an idea I can get some clues there. I'm going to look up some old soldiers who were in my son's company. Your father gave me the money to go."
"My father? Is he home?" asked Dick quickly, hoping his parent had unexpectedly returned from abroad.
"Oh, no. He gave it to me before he left. I mentioned that I'd like to go out west, and he gave me a good sum. I don't know what I'd do but for him."
"When are you going west?" asked Dick.
"Right away. I guess I'd better be leaving here now."
"If you have any time to spare, captain, perhaps you'd like to stay and see the cadets go through some drills."
"I think I would, if the commander will let me."
"Of course he will. Old soldiers are always welcome here. We're going to have some wall-scaling drills just before parade this evening. I'd like to have you stay and see them."
"I will, thanks."
Dick spoke to Colonel Masterly about Captain Handlee, and the veteran not only received a cordial invitation to remain, but was taken in charge by Major Webster, who asked him to occupy his quarters, and take his meals there.
The wall-scaling drills were always enjoyed by the cadets as they offered chances for rough and ready fun. The walls were structures of boards, between ten and fifteen feet high, placed on the open field, and the object was for the lads, by means of a pyramid formation, to get all their comrades over the top, while the men left behind, who had assisted their fellows over, would either scramble up by means of a rope, anchored by lads on the other side, or would be pulled up by their comrades who leaned over the high fence.
When the exercises for the day were over, Dick sought out Captain Handlee, and inquired how he liked the wall-scaling.
"Fine! Fine!" exclaimed the veteran. "We never had such practice when I was in the army, but we did pretty near the same in real life. I remember one occasion at Chancellorsville—"
"Now Captain Handlee," interrupted Major Webster, who had constituted himself host to the veteran, "you keep all such stories for me. If you get telling them to the cadets, first thing I know I'll have to be providing big brick walls for them to scale."
He led the veteran away, the aged captain bidding good-bye to Dick.
"I hope you'll be successful on your trip," said the young millionaire.
"I hope so, too, Dick, for I miss my son more and more as I grow older."
In spite of the good record he made in the drills, at artillery practice and in his class, Dick found as the weeks went by, that he was making no progress in becoming popular with the main body of students at Kentfield. He had a few chums among the freshmen, and of course was on speaking terms with all the others, but aside from Paul Drew, his roommate, he had no close friends. This state of affairs made him feel sad, for at home he had been the most popular lad in town.
"I'm not succeeding as I thought I would," he said to himself, one day. "I guess I'll have to put my plan into operation. But perhaps I'd better wait a while yet. I'll give this way a fair show."
As fall advanced there began to be talk about forming the football eleven. A number of new players were needed, because some of the best had graduated the previous year.
"I hope I can make the team," said Dick to Paul one evening during their study period. "I used to be considered a good player at home."
"I don't see why you can't get on. Fortunately Dutton has nothing to say about who shall play, though he's considered one of the team's supporters and backers."
"Still he may influence Captain Rutledge. I hear they are going to pick candidates this week."
"Yes, I heard Harry Hale, the coach, talking about it. I hope you make the eleven, Dick."
It was the following day, when Dick was out in the field, with some other cadets of his class, getting instruction in survey work, that he overheard something which made him feel more than ever like giving up the fight against his handicap. He was standing near a thick hedge, holding the scale rod, while another cadet was reading it through the instrument, when he heard voices behind the shrubbery.
"Looks to me like Hamilton would make a good player," he caught, and he knew that Coach Hale was speaking.
"You're right," said Captain Rutledge. "He's got the right build, and I hear he played at home."
"Aw, you don't want him on the team," expostulated a voice which Dick knew at once belonged to Captain Dutton.
"Why not?" asked the coach, in some surprise.
"Well, none of the other fellows like him. You wouldn't get good team work if he played."
"Are you sure?" asked Captain Rutledge.
"Sure. He's not popular."
"What's the matter with him?"
"Well, he's got too much money, and he's always trying to make it known. He gives himself as many airs as if he came of an old family."
This was an unjust accusation, but the coach and captain did not know it, as they were upper-class cadets, and did not mingle much with the freshmen.
"Well, we won't want to get an unpopular fellow on the eleven," said the coach, dubiously.
"No, indeed," agreed the captain. "Still, we need good players. Suppose we give him a trial?"
"You'll be sorry if you do," Dutton assured them.
Dick longed to drop the rod, leap over the hedge and give a well-deserved threshing to Dutton, but he knew he would lose more than he would gain. He was brought quickly out of his fit of righteous anger by the sharp command of the officer in charge of the surveying party.
"Plumb east there! Hamilton!" was the cry, and Dick saw that he had allowed the rod to slant too much. He straightened it, and, glancing at the hedge saw the three cadets who had been talking, moving away. But, before they got out of earshot Dick heard Dutton say:
"I wouldn't put him on the team, if I were you, for I don't think he'll be here long."
"Why not? Doesn't he like it?" asked Captain Rutledge.
"Oh, I guess he likes it all right, but we don't like him. I shouldn't wonder but what something would happen to make him leave," and Dutton laughed sarcastically.
"I guess I'd better be on my guard," thought Dick as he moved the rod to another place, in obedience to the instructions from the cadet at the instrument.
A few days after this, a notice was posted on the bulletin board in the gymnasium, telling all candidates for the football team to report on the gridiron that afternoon, as selections for the regular and scrub teams would be made. Members of the scrub would act as substitutes on the regular.
"Here's where I get my chance," said Dick to Paul.
"Well, I hope you make the regular team," replied his roommate, as the young millionaire went to submit himself for examination.
Coach Hale, Captain Rutledge, and a number of the former players were on hand, as was Dutton, and some of his cronies. All the candidates were looked over, sized up physically, and put through a course of "sprouts" in running, leaping, and tackling. Then their football history was inquired into.
"I guess you'll do, Hamilton," said the coach, and Dick was delighted.
A moment later, however, he saw his hopes dashed to the ground. Dutton called Harry Hale over to him, whispered a bit, and then Captain Rutledge joined them.
"You'll be on the scrub, Hamilton," said Hale, a little later. "You'll probably have a chance to play in several games, however, for I like your form. You've got to be regular at practice however."
Though much disappointed, Dick vowed to do his best at practice. This was started a few days later, and, when the regular team lined up against the substitutes, Dick resolved that they would make no gains through him, for he was playing at left guard, though he preferred being back of the line.
"Well, how are we making out," Dick overheard Captain Rutledge asking the coach, one afternoon, following some hard scrimmages.
"Pretty good. That Hamilton is like a brick wall, though. We can't gain a foot through him. I wish we had him on the regular."
"Well, you know what Dutton said."
"Yes, I know, but I don't believe all Dutton says. He's got queer notions. I think Hamilton is every bit as good as he is. Besides, Dutton doesn't play football."
"I know it, but he has lots of influence."
Dick fully subscribed to this, for he knew it was due to Dutton that he was on the scrub instead of on the regular team. But he resolved to have patience.
As Dick walked off the gridiron, following the practice, he was met, before he reached his barracks, by Grit, who had been let out of his kennel in the stables.
"Hello, Grit old fellow!" exclaimed Dick, and the dog nearly dislocated his stump of a tail, so excited was he. Since rejoining his master he had picked up wonderfully. "I've got you for a friend, even if I haven't many others," said Dick, as he bent over to fondle the dog. As he did so he saw some marks on the animal's smooth, satin-like coat, that made him start.
"Grit, you've been fighting!" he exclaimed. "How did that happen?" He knew there were no other dogs near the academy with whom his pet would quarrel. He asked the stableman about it.
"Sure Grit's been in a fight," replied one of the hostlers. "I thought you matched him in a scrap wid a dorg in town. Grit won, anyhow. It was a couple a' nights ago."
"Matched him in a fight? Why, did some one—some of the cadets take Grit to town, and let him fight?"
"Thot's what they done, Muster Hamilton, an' they won a pot of money on him too, I understand."
"Who took him?" asked Dick, trying to speak calmly.
"Why, uts no secret. Muster Dutton an' Muster Stiver tuck him one night. Ut was a foin foight, I heard 'em say."
Dick started away, after chaining Grit up, a set look on his face.
"I'll have it out with Dutton," he said.
After a bath and rub down in the gymnasium Dick dressed for evening parade. When this was over he sought out Dutton, who was strolling off the campus with some chums.
"Captain Dutton, I wish to speak to you," said Dick, formally saluting.
"Well, I don't know that I wish to speak to you. What is it?" asked the young snob, barely acknowledging Dick's courtesy.
"Did you take my bulldog to town, and match him to fight another?"
Dutton started, then looked insolently at Dick.
"What of it?" he asked sneeringly.
"This much. That you haven't any right to do that, even if you are my superior officer. Grit is my personal property, and I won't have him fighting."
"Aw, what's the harm, Hamilton. He put up a dandy fight and licked a bigger dog than he is," put in one of the cadets.
"I don't care, I don't want him to fight."
"Oh, you don't?" asked Dutton coolly.
"No; and if you take him again——"
"Well, what will you do? Report me, I suppose?" said the captain.
"No, but I'll thrash you worse than I did the other time, Captain Dutton, that's what I'll do!" exclaimed Dick, hotly. "You leave Grit alone! If you take him again you know what to expect!"
Dutton turned pale. He strode toward Dick, but at that moment Captain Grantly, one of the instructors, strolled past. Dutton turned aside.
"You haven't heard the last of this—my fresh millionaire," he said in a whisper to Dick, as he and his cronies walked off. "You'll wish you hadn't insulted me."
Dick saluted, as the rules required, and marched back to quarters. He felt that he would have enjoyed a good stiff fight with his mean enemy.
"I don't suppose this will add to my popularity, among the sporting element," he said to himself. "But I don't care; they shan't fight Grit!"
Football practice went on every afternoon, and Dick and the other scrubs were faithful at it. The regular eleven was being whipped into shape, and the first game was close at hand. When it was played Dick found himself wishing he could have a chance, but no such thing happened. The opponents of Kentfield were light-weight players, and the cadets had no difficulty in piling up a big score.
"But it will be different next week," Captain Rutledge warned them. "We tackle Mooretown then, and you'll find your work cut out for you."
This game was indeed a stiff one, and several players were hurt. The cadets were slightly ahead in the second half, when the right half-back was knocked out, and, as there had been one substitute already put in at that position, there was a call for another one.
"Try Hamilton," suggested the coach, after a hurried consultation with the captain.
Dick's heart gave a wild throb, as he was called, and, stripping off his sweater, he bounded in from the side line. He was given the ball for a play around the left end, and, getting clear of the opposing players started down the field on a run. But, alas for his hopes of making a touchdown! The referee's whistle blew when he was on the thirty-five yard line, ending the game, in favor of Kentfield.
There was rejoicing among the cadets, for Mooretown was an ancient rival, and they played three games with the students of that non-military academy every year, for the local championship.
"You didn't get much of a show, Hamilton," said Coach Hale, as the team was in the dressing room. "But you started off well. I guess you'll get into a game yet."
Dick was grateful for this praise. He knew he could do good work if he had half a chance.
"This is Saturday," observed Paul Drew, as he crawled out of bed the next morning. "Not so many lessons to-day, and lots of fun for you, I suppose on the horses. It's rough-riding to-day."
"So it is," agreed Dick. "I like that best of all, except, maybe, hiking on a practice march, and firing from the trenches. I hope I get the horse I had last time."
"To-day's the last of the tests," went on Paul, as he slipped into his uniform.
"How do you mean?"
"I mean the officers are going to choose from those who ride to-day, the cadets who can take part in the tests for joining the prize troop."
"Right you are. Say, I'm going to make that troop or bust a leg."
"Well, I hope you don't break any bones. But I guess there's no danger. You seem right at home on a horse."
"I ought to. I've been riding ever since I was a kid. I'm going to do my best to-day."
As Paul had said, this was the final weeding out of candidates among the cadets, who had no chance in the tests that would be held later, to determine who should be members of the prize troop. This troop consisted of the best riders at the academy, and took part in several state evolutions and parades, having won a number of trophies.
Scores of cadets, in their service uniforms, reported on the cavalry plain for practice. They were required to vault into the saddle while their horse was standing still, and at varying speeds, up to a smart gallop. Many failed in this, but Dick did not.
Then came mounting and dismounting at hurdles, which was more difficult, and weeded out a number, and then, the last of the semifinals, was the feat of standing astride on two horses, driving a steed on either side, and, while doing this, to take a difficult hurdle.
More than a score did not succeed at this, and Dick was not a little nervous when it came his turn, as, though he was an expert, he had not practiced this evolution much.
On his steeds thundered over the ground, one being a skittish horse, and hard to manage.
"If they don't jump together," thought Dick, "I'm done for. If one of them knocks down the hurdle bar it's all up with my chances."
He called encouragingly to the animals, and took a tighter hold on the reins, while he shifted his weight on the backs of the horses.
"Over you go now, boys!" he exclaimed at the take-off, and he fairly lifted the four animals as one, over the bar, clearing it cleanly.
"Good, Hamilton!" was the quiet praise of Major Webster, who acted as judge. "That was finely done."
So Dick qualified for the finals.
But there was more hard work ahead of him. Thus far not many of the freshmen had kept up to Dick, and there were envious eyes cast at him. But those who envied him his good fortune realized that he had earned it.
"Now, gentlemen, ready for the finals," ordered Major Webster. "I want you all to be careful, and take no unnecessary risks, at the same time, don't be afraid, for no one ever became a good horseman who was afraid."
The final tests consisted in riding bareback, in different postures, such as might become necessary during a battle, in riding at different speeds, in removing the saddle from the horse while at full gallop, in leaping hurdles, and taking water jumps.
Other tests were in leaping hurdles four feet high, and as the cadets vaulted, taking a suspending ring on a lance, in leaping clean over a running horse and in forming pyramids, with ten cadets on four horses.
The last test was, perhaps, the most difficult of all. It consisted in one cadet lying on the ground, and another riding toward him at full speed. The one on the horse had to pick up his comrade from the earth, by leaning over and grasping his up-stretched hand, and then assisting him up behind him on his horse, continuing to gallop away.
When it came Dick's turn he noticed, with some uneasiness, that the cadet he was to pick up, was one of the heaviest in the school, but he resolved to succeed, and he braced himself for the ordeal, as his horse galloped toward the prostrate youth.
As he neared the recumbent figure Dick leaned over, holding on as tightly as he could with his legs. His hand grasped the belt and part of the clothing of the cadet, and then Dick's arm felt as if it would be torn from the socket. He feared he would be dragged from his horse.
But, with a sudden pull, he lifted the lad from the ground and swung him upon his horse. There was some applause at Dick's feat, as his steed galloped on over the course.
"Guess I'm something of a load, old chap," said the cadet to Dick.
"You're no feather," was Dick's comment, as he halted his horse.
"Well, Hamilton, I think we shall admit you to membership in the prize troop," said Major Webster. "It was a severe test, and you did well."
"I'm glad you think so, sir," replied Dick, saluting.
There were some further trials, in some of them Dick acting the part of the reclining cadet. 'Gene Graham could not succeed in the test, and was rejected, much to his disappointment.
Dick was delighted to be a member of the prize troop for it brought with it many privileges; and there was a chance to take part in parades and similar affairs to which the other cadets were not admitted.
Very few freshmen had won the coveted honor, but it can not be said that Dick was received with open arms into the troop. Dutton and many of his friends belonged, and they had lost none of their unreasonable feeling against Dick. Still they did nothing more than turn a cold shoulder toward him, though this was enough to make the young millionaire miserable.
However, he managed to forget some of his bad feeling in anticipation of another football game, which was to take place two days later. He hoped to get a chance to play, as, following a rather tame affair with a team which the Kentfield eleven "walked all over," there was to be the second of the championship contests with Mooretown.
This was a lively and strenuous game. Mooretown put in some new players, and, though they did not score in the first half, when Kentfield made one touchdown, the opponents of the cadet warriors of the gridiron took such a brace in the second that the score was ten to four, in favor of Mooretown, when the referee's whistle blew.
"What's the matter with your men?" asked Coach Hale of Captain Rutledge, after the game. "They couldn't hold those fellows for a cent."
"Too much beef for us," replied the captain.
"Yes, and they tore holes in your line that you could drive an ice wagon through," went on the coach. "Both your guards were weak. Hamilton should have been put in."
"I couldn't very well do it, when no men were hurt."
"No, I suppose not. But if the next game doesn't go better than this one did, I'll make a change. We can't afford to lose it."
"We shan't lose it," promised the captain, and Dick, who overheard what was said, hoped he would get a chance to play.
Meanwhile he reported regularly for practice, and was a tower of strength to the scrub eleven, many of the players on which, regardless of Dutton's influence, made of Dick a better friend than heretofore.
Several unimportant games followed, one of which resulted in a tie, Kentfield winning the others, and then came the occasion of the final struggle with Mooretown. It was the greatest game of the season, as it meant much to both academies.
The day before the contest Dick was surprised to receive a visit from Russell Glen, one of the freshmen cadets, who, hitherto, had scarcely taken the trouble to nod to him. Glen wanted to be considered a "sport," and Dick had heard that he had had a hand in taking Grit off to the dog fight.
"I had a letter from a friend of mine to-day," said Glen, by way of introduction, as he lolled in one of Dick's easy chairs. "It contained some surprising news."
"Yes?" asked Dick politely.
"Yes, it was from Guy Fletcher, of Hamilton Corners. He spoke of you, and asked me if I knew you."
"Well?" asked Dick, wondering what was coming.
"I was quite surprised to know that you and Guy were friends," went on Glen.
"Oh, yes, I've known Guy for some time," said Dick, not caring to go into particulars, and tell what a mean trick Guy, in company with Simon Scardale, had once played on him.
"So he says. He speaks very highly of you. I've known him for some time. He and I used to be quite chummy. But I had no idea you and he lived in the same town, until he spoke of it in his letter. He mentioned that you attended this academy, and asked if I was acquainted with you. I wrote back and said that I was."
Dick looked rather surprised at this, as well he might, for, beyond a mere nod, Glen had never shown that he knew him.
"I don't suppose I am as well acquainted with you as I might be," went on the young "sport," calmly, "and that's my fault. I've been so busy attending to my studies, that I haven't had much time for social calls."
Neither had many of the other cadets, Dick thought bitterly.
"But I'll make amends now," went on Glen. "I want to get to know you better, because we both have the same friend in Guy Fletcher."
Dick didn't think it worth while to state that Guy was no particular friend of his, since certain happenings told of in the first volume of this series. But Glen continued:
"I wish you'd come to a little spread I'm giving to-night. Just a small affair for some of the freshmen."
"I'll come," promised our hero, glad of the chance to meet some of his classmates informally.
"It won't be as elaborate as the one I hear you gave," went on Glen, "for I'm not a millionaire," and he laughed. "But I'll do the best I can."
At first Dick thought he was going to have a good time at the affair, for the guests, most of whom were of the "sporting" element, greeted him cordially enough. But when Glen produced several bottles of beer, and some cigars, Dick felt uneasy.
It was an offense, calling for severe punishment, to have intoxicants or tobacco in the academy, and Dick realized that discovery might come any moment. Still, he did not want to bring upon himself ridicule, and perhaps anger, by leaving.
"Have some beer, Hamilton," urged Glen.
"It's the right sort of stuff. I had it smuggled in from town. And these are prime cigars. I snibbled some from dad's stock before I came away."
"No, thank you," replied Dick. "I don't care for any."
"What, don't you drink?"
"No."
"Aw, you don't know what life is. Have a cigar then."
"No, I don't smoke, either."
"Humph! You're a regular molly-coddle, you are," said Glen, with a brutal laugh.
"Maybe," he admitted, as pleasantly as he could, "but I have an idea I shouldn't drink or smoke while in training, if for no other reason."
"Your training doesn't seem to be doing you much good," said another cadet. "You haven't had a show in any of the games yet. Better quit training and have some beer."
"No, thank you. Maybe I'll get a chance to play to-morrow."
But Dick's refusal had no effect on Glen's other guests. They drank more than was good for them, and smoked considerable. They were becoming rather noisy and silly, and Dick was in momentary terror lest some guard or instructor should come along and discover the violation of the rules. The spread was held in an unused room, in the basement of the east barrack, and, though permission for it had been given, the officer in charge of the building was supposed to keep a sort of lookout over such affairs.
If one of the cadet officers discovered the beer and cigars he would hardly "squeal" on his comrades, but one of the academy staff would not be so lenient.
The fun became more and more noisy, and Dick was thinking of withdrawing, no matter if he did offend his host, when he was saved the trouble by something that happened.
A cadet officer, who was on night guard knocked on the door, and when there came a sudden hush to the merry-making, he whispered that Major Webster was approaching, and would almost certainly discover the breach of rules.
"Quick fellows, get this stuff out of the way, and then skip!" cried Glen, and the boys quickly hid the beer bottles, and threw away their cigars. Then, by opening the windows, the smoke was gotten rid of, and the cadets prepared to disperse.
"I say, Hamilton," began Glen, a bit thickly, as he walked alongside Dick, to his room, "you couldn't lend me twenty-five dollars; could you? I spent more on this racket than I intended, and I'm a bit short until I get my next allowance. I want to bet a little on the game to-morrow."