"Billy" broke in just then with a dismal groan.

"I don't know whether that's because of the pun," laughed Fischer, "or because of your recollection of the blow. However, I'll proceed.

Cadet Captain Fischer dropped the letter, sat up, and stared at Williams; and Williams stared back. There was disgust on the faces of both.

"By George!" cried the latter at last, striking his gunstock in the ground. "By George! we've let 'em do it already!"

And after that there was a silence of several unpleasant minutes, during which each was diligently thinking over the situation.

"He's a fine fellow, anyway," continued Williams. "And we were a pack of fools to let that Bull Harris gang soak him as we did. They've gone to work and given him ninety-five demerits in a week on trumped-up charges. And it's perfectly outrageous, that's what it is! The plebe's confoundedly fresh, of course, but he's a gentleman for all that, and he don't deserve one-quarter of the demerits he's gotten. The decent fellows in the class ought to be ashamed of themselves."

"That's what I say! He only has to get five demerits more and then he's fired for good."

"Which means," put in the officer, "that's he's sure to be fired by next week."

"Exactly! And then what will Wicks say? I went over to barracks to see Mallory about it yesterday; he's nearly heart-broken, for he's worked like a horse to get here, and now he's ruined—practically expelled. Yet, what can we do?"

"Can't he hand in explanations and get the demerits excused?" suggested Fischer.

"No, because most of the charges had just enough basis of truth in them to make them justifiable. I tell you I was mad when he told me about it; I vowed I'd do something to stop it. Yet what on earth can I do? I can't think of a thing except to lick that fellow Bull Harris and his crowd. But what possible good will that do Mallory?"

"Mallory will probably do that himself," remarked Fischer, smiling for a moment; his face became serious again as he continued. "I begin to agree with you, Billy, about that thing. I've heard several tales about how Mallory outwitted Bull in his hazing adventures, and the plebe's probably made him mad. It's a dirty revenge Bull has taken, and I think if it's only for Wicks' sake I'll put a stop to it."

"You!" echoed Williams. "Pray, how?"

"What am I a first captain for?" laughed Fischer. "Just you watch me and see what I do! I can't take off the ninety-five, but I can see that he don't get the other five, by Jingo! And I will do it for you, too!"

And with that, the cadet arose and strode out of the tent, leaving his friend to labor at the gun in glum and disconsolate silence.

At the same time that Williams and Fischer were discussing the case of this particularly refractory plebe, there were other cadets doing likewise, but with far different sentiments and views. The cadets were Bull Harris and his cronies.

They were sitting—half a dozen of them—beneath the shade trees of Trophy Point at the northern end of the parade ground; they were waiting for dinner, and the afternoon, which, being Saturday, was a holiday and for which they had planned some particular delicious hazing adventure.

Foremost among them was Bull Harris himself, seated upon one of the cannon. Beside him was Baby Edwards. Gus Murray sat on Bull's other side and made up a precious trio.

Murray was laughing heartily at something just then, and the rest of the crowd seemed to appreciate the joke immensely.

"Ho! ho!" said he. "Just think of it! After I had soaked the confounded plebe for fifty and more, ho! ho! they got suspicious up at headquarters and transferred me, and ho! ho! put M-m-merry Vance on instead, and he, ho! ho! soaked him all the harder!"

And Gus Murray slapped his knee and roared at this truly humorous state of affairs.

"Yes," chimed in Merry Vance. "Yes, I thought when Gus told me he'd been transferred again that we'd lost our chance to skin Mallory for fair. And the very next night up gets the adjutant and reads off the orders putting me on duty over the plebes. Oh, gee! Did you ever hear the like?"

"Never," commented Bull, grinning appreciatively.

"Never," chimed in Baby's little voice. "Positively never!"

"Tell us about it," suggested another. "What did you do?"

"Oh, nothing much," replied Vance. "I went up there at the A. M. inspection, and I just made up my mind to give him twenty demerits, and I did it, that's all. They had spruced up out of sight; but it didn't take me very long to find something wrong, I tell you."

"I guess not!" agreed Baby.

"I gave him the twenty, as you saw; and say, you ought to have seen how sick he looked! Ho! ho!"

And then the crowd indulged in another fit of violent hilarity.

"I guess," said Bull, when this had finally passed, "that we can about count Mallory as out for good. He's only got five more demerits to run before dismissal, and he'll be sure to get those in time, even if we don't give 'em to him—which, by the way, I mean to do anyhow. But we'll just parcel 'em one at a time just enough to keep him worried, hey?"

"That's it exactly!" commented the Baby.

"He deserves it every bit!" growled Bull. "He's the B. J.est 'beast' that ever struck West Point. Why, we could never have a moment's peace with that fellow around. We couldn't haze anybody. He stopped us half a dozen times."

The sentiment was the sentiment of the whole gang; and they felt that they had cause to be happy indeed. Their worst enemy had been disposed of and a man might breathe freely once more. The crowd could think of nothing to talk about that whole morning but that B. J. "beast" and his ruin.

They found something, however, before many more minutes passed. Bull chanced to glance over his shoulder in the direction of the camp.

"Hello!" he said. "Here comes Fischer."

"Good-afternoon, Mr. Fischer," said Bull.

"Good-afternoon," responded the officer, with obvious stiffness; and then there was an awkward silence, during which he surveyed them in silence.

"Mr. Harris," he said, at last, "I'd like to speak to you for a moment; and Mr. Murray, and you, too, Mr. Vance."

The three stepped out of the group with alacrity, and followed Fischer over to a seat nearby, while the rest of the gang stood and stared in surprise, speculating as to what this could possibly mean.

The three with the officer were finding out in a hurry.

"I am told," began the latter, gazing at them, with majestic sternness, "that you three are engaged in skinning a certain plebe——"

"Why, Mr. Fischer!" cried the three, in obvious surprise.

"Don't interrupt me!" thundered the captain in a voice that made them quake, and that reached the others and made them quake, too.

"Don't interrupt me! I know what I am talking about. I was a yearling once myself, and I'm a cadet still, and there's not the least use trying to pull the wool over my eyes. I know there never yet was a plebe who got fifty demerits in one day and deserved them."

The captain did not fail to notice here that the trio flushed and looked uncomfortable.

"You all know, I believe," he continued, "just exactly what I think of you. I've never hesitated to say it. Now, I want you to understand in the first place that I know of this contemptible trick, and that also I know the plebe, who's worth more than a dozen of you; and that if he gets a demerit from any one of you again I'll make you pay for it as sure as I'm alive. Just remember it, that's all!"

And with this, the indignant captain turned upon his heel, and strode off, leaving the yearlings as if a bombshell had landed in their midst.

"Fischer's a confounded fool!" Bull Harris broke out at last.

"Just what he is!" cried the Baby. "I'd like to knock him over."

And after that there was silence again, broken only by the roll of a drum that meant dinner.

"Well," was Bull's final word, as the crowd set out for camp, "it's unfortunate, I must say. But it won't make the least bit of difference. Mallory'll get his demerits sure as he's alive, and Fischer's interference won't matter in the least."

"That's what!" cried the rest of them.

CHAPTER XXV.
A SWIMMING MATCH.

There is a flight of iron steps in the center, and at the foot of these steps, three times every day, the battalion breaks ranks and dissolves into a mob of actively bounding figures. Upon entering, the cadets do not take seats, but stand behind their chairs, and await the order, "Company A, take seats!" "Company B, take seats!" and so on. The plebes, who, up to this time, are still a separate company, come last, as usual; they are seated by themselves, at one side of the dining-room.

The tables seat twenty-two persons, ten on a side, and one at each end. The cadets are placed according to rank, and they always sit in the same seats. The tables are divided down the center by an imaginary line, each part being a "table"; first class men sit near the head, and so on down to the plebes, who find themselves at the center (that is, after they have moved into camp, and been "sized" and assigned to companies; before that they are "beasts," herded apart, as has been said).

The dinner is upon the table when the cadets enter; the corporals are charged with the duty of carving, and the luckless plebe is expected to help everybody to water upon demand, and eats nothing until that duty has been attended to. After the meal, for which half an hour is allowed, the command, "Company A, rise!" and so on, is the signal to leave the table and fall into line again on the street outside. This, however, does not take place until a lynx-eyed "tac" has gone the rounds, making notes—"So-and-so, too much butter on plate." "Somebody else, napkin not properly folded," and so on. This ceremony over, the battalion marches back to camp, a good half mile, in the broiling sun or pouring rain, as the case may be.

That Saturday afternoon being a hot one, and a holiday, our friends of the last chapter, Bull Harris and his gang, sought out an occupation in which fully half the cadets at the post chanced to agree; they went in swimming, a diversion which the superintendent sees fit to allow. "Gee's Point," on the Hudson, is within the government property, and thither the cadets gather whenever the weather is suitable.

That particular party included Bull and Baby (who didn't swim, but liked to watch Bull), Gus Murray, Vance and the rest of their retainers. And, on the way, they passed the time by discussing their one favorite topic, their recent triumph over "that B. J. beast." There was a new phase of the question they had to speculate upon now, and that was what the "beast" could possibly have done to move to such unholy wrath so important a personage as the senior captain of the Battalion. Also, they were interested in trying to think up a method by which those extra demerits might be speedily given without incurring the wrath of that officer. Though each one of the yearlings was ready, even anxious, to explain that he wasn't the least bit afraid of him.

"I tell you," declared Bull, "he couldn't prove anything against us if he tried. It's all one great bluff of Fischer's, and he's a fool to act as he did."

"I'd a good mind to tell him as much!" assented Baby.

"It won't make any difference," put in Murray, "we'll soak the plebe, anyhow. We can easily give him five demerits in short order, and without attracting any attention, either."

"He's out, just as sure as he's alive!" laughed Bull. "We wouldn't need to do a thing more."

"Exactly!" cried the echo. "Not a thing!"

"All the same," continued the other, "I wish we could get up a scheme to get him in disgrace, so as to clinch it. I wish we could——"

Just here Bull was interrupted by a sudden exclamation from Murray. Murray had brought his hand against his knee with a whack, and there was a look of inspiration upon his face.

"Great Cæsar!" he cried, "I've got it!"

"Got it! What?"

"A scheme! A scheme to do him!"

"What is it?"

"Write him a letter, or something—get him to leave barracks at night—have a sentry catch him beyond limits, or else we'll report him absent! Oh, say!"

The crowd were staring at each other in amazement, a look of delight spreading over their faces, as the full possibilities of this same inspiration dawned upon them.

"By the lord!" cried Bull, at last. "Court-martial him! That's the ticket!"

"Shake on it!" responded Murray.

In half a minute the gang had sworn to put that plan into execution within the space of twenty-four hours. And after that they hurried on down to the point to go in swimming.

"Speak of angels," remarked Murray, "and they flap their wings. There's the confounded plebe now."

"Of angels!" sneered Vance. "Of devils, you mean."

"By George!" muttered Bull. "You can't phaze that fellow. I thought he'd be up in barracks, moping, to-day!"

"Probably wants to put up a bluff as if he don't care," was the clever suggestion of the Baby. "I bet he's sore as anything!"

"I told him I'd make him the sickest plebe in the place," growled Bull, "and I'll bet he is, too."

The yearling would have won his bet; there was probably no sadder man in West Point than Mark Mallory just then, even though he did not choose to let his enemies know it.

"Look at him dive!" sneered Baby, watching him with a malignant frown. "He wants to show off."

"Pretty good dive," commented a bystander, who was somewhat more disinterested.

"Good, your grandmother!" cried the other. "Why, I could beat that myself if I knew how to swim!"

And then he wondered why the crowd laughed.

"Come on, let's go in ourselves," put in Bull, anxious to end his small friend's discomfort. "Hurry up, there!"

The crowd had turned away, to follow their leader in his suggestion; they were by no means anxious to swell the number of those who had gathered for the obvious purpose of watching Mark Mallory's feats as a swimmer. In fact, they couldn't see why anybody should want to watch a B. J. beast, and a "beast" who had only a day or two more to stay, at that.

Just then, however, a cry from the crowd attracted their attention, and made them turn hastily again.

"A race! A race!"

And Bull Harris cried out with vexation, as he wheeled and took in the situation.

"By the Lord!" he cried. "Did you ever hear of such a B. J. trick in your life? The confounded plebe is going to race with Fischer!"

CHAPTER XXVI.
THE FINISH OF A RACE.

"Yes," chimed in Baby. "And see that fellow, Texas, making a fool of himself."

"That fellow Texas" was "making a fool of himself" by dancing about in wild excitement, and raising a series of cowboy whoops in behalf of his friend, and of plebes in general.

"There they are, ready to go!" cried Murray, betraying some excitement.

"I wish the confounded plebe'd never come up again!" growled Bull, in return, striving hard to appear indifferent.

"I bet Fischer'll do him!" exclaimed the Baby. "He swims like a fish. Say, they're going to race to that tree way down the river. Golly, but that's a long swim!"

"Long nothing!" sneered Vance. "I could swim that a dozen times. But, say, they'll finish in the rain; look at that thunderstorm coming!"

In response to this last remark, the crowd cast their eyes in the direction indicated. They found that the prediction seemed likely to be fulfilled. To the north, up the Hudson, dense, black clouds already obscured the sky, and a strong, fresh breeze, that smelled of rain, was springing up from thence, and making the swimmers shiver apprehensively.

The preparation for the race went on, however; nobody cared for the storm.

"Gee whiz!" cried the Baby, in excitement. "Won't it be exciting! I don't mind the rain. I'm going to run down along the shore, and watch it! Hooray!"

"Rats!" growled Bull, angrily. "I don't care about any old race. I'm going to keep dry, let me tell you!"

Even the damper of his idol's displeasure could not change Master Edwards' mind, however; he and nearly the whole crowd with him made a dash down the shore for a vantage point to see the finish.

"There! They're off!"

The cry came a moment later, as the two lightly-clad figures stepped to the mark from which they were to start.

They were about of one size, magnificently proportioned, both of them, and the race bid fair to be a close one.

"Ready?" called the starter, in a voice that rang down the shore.

"Yes," responded Mark, and at the same moment a heavy cloud swept under the sun, and the air grew dark and chilly. The wind increased to a gale, blowing the spray before it; and then——

"Go!" called the starter.

The two dived as one figure; both took the water clean and low, with no perceptible splash; two heads appeared a moment later, forging ahead side by side; a cheer from the cadets arose, that drowned, for a moment, the roars of the storm; and the race was on.

It is remarkable how closely nature follows a rule in her most perfect work; here were two figures, built by her a thousand miles apart, racing there, and each striving with might and main, yet the sum total of the energy that each was able to expend so nearly alike that yard by yard they struggled on, without an inch of difference between them.

"Fischer! Fischer!" rose the shouts of the cadets.

"Mallory! Mallory!" roared the excited plebes, backed up by an occasional "Wow!" in the stentorian tones of the mighty Texan, who, by this time, was on the verge of epilepsy.

Onward went the two heads, still side by side, seeming to creep through the water at a snail's pace to the excited partisans on the shore. But it was no snail's pace to the two in the water; each was struggling in grim earnestness, putting into every stroke all the power that was in him. Neither looked at the other; but each could tell, from the cries of the cadets, that his opponent was pressing him closely.

Nearer and nearer they came to the far distant goal; higher and higher rose the shouts:

"Fischer! Fischer!" "Mallory! Mallory!" "He's got him!" "No." "Hooray!"

"Gee! but it is exciting," screamed Baby. "Go it, Fischer! Do him!"

"And I wish that confounded 'beast' was in Hades!" snarled Bull, whose hatred of Mark was deeper, and more malignant than that of his friend.

"I believe I could kill him!"

During all this excitement the storm had been sweeping rapidly up, its majesty unnoticed in the excitement of the race. Far up the Hudson could be seen a driving cloud of rain; and the wind had risen to a hurricane, while the air grew dark and chill.

The race was at its most exciting stage—the finish, and the cadets were dancing about, half in a frenzy, yelling incoherently, at the two still struggling lads, when some one, nobody knew just who, chanced to glance for one brief instant up the river. A moment later a cry was heard that brought the race to a startling and unexpected close.

"Look! look! The sailboat!"

The cry sounded even above the roar of the storm and the shouts of the crowd. The cadets turned in alarm and gazed up the river. What they saw made them forget that such a thing as a race ever existed.

Right in the teeth of the wind, in the center of the river, was a small catboat, driven downstream, before the gale, with the speed of a locomotive. In the boat was one person, and the person was a girl. She sat in the stern, waving her hands in helpless terror, and even as the spectators stared, the boat gibed with terrific violence, and a volume of water poured in over the gunwale.

The crowd was thrown into confusion; a babel of excited voices arose, and the race was forgotten in an instant.

The racers were not slow to notice it; both of them turned to gaze behind them, and to take in the situation.

"Help! Help!" called a faint voice from the distant sailboat.

Help! Who was there to help? There was not a boat in sight; the cadets were running up and down in confusion, hunting for one in vain. They were like a nest of frightened ants, without a leader, skurrying this way and that, and only contributing to the general alarm. The girl herself could do nothing, and so it seemed as if help were far away, indeed.

There was one person in the crowd, however, who kept his head in the midst of all that confusion. And the person was Mark. Exhausted though he was by his desperate swim, he did not hesitate an instant. Before the amazed cadet captain at his side could half comprehend his intention, he turned quickly in the water, and, with one powerful stroke, shot away toward the center of the stream.

The cadets on the shore scarcely knew whether to cry out in horror, or to cheer the act they saw. They caught one more glimpse of the catboat as it raced ahead before the gale; they saw the gallant plebe struggling in the water.

And then the storm struck them in its fury. A blinding sheet of driving rain, that darkened the air and drove against the river, and rose again in clouds of spray; a gale that lashed the water into fury; and darkness that shut out the river, and the boat, and the swimmer, and left nothing but a humbled group of shivering cadets.

CHAPTER XXVII.
WHAT MARK DID.

The storm itself was one of those which come but seldom. Nature's mighty forces flung loose in one giant cataclysm. It came from the north, and it had a full sweep down the valley of the Hudson, pent in and focused to one point by the mountains on each side. It tore the trees from the tops as it came; it struck the river with a swish, and beat the water into foam. It flung the raindrops in gusts against it, and caught them up in spray and whirled them on; and this, to the echoing crashes of the thunder and the dull, lurid gleam of the lightning that played in the rear.

One is silent at such times at that; the frightened cadets on the shore would probably have stood in groups and trembled, and done nothing through it all, had it not been for a cry that aroused them. Some one, sharper eyed than the rest, espied a figure struggling in the water near the shore. There was a rush for the spot, and strong arms drew the swimmer in. It was Captain Fischer, breathless and exhausted from the race.

He lay on the bank, panting for breath for a minute, and then raised himself upon his arms.

"Where's Mallory?" he cried, his voice sounding faint and distant in the roar of the storm.

"Out there," responded somebody, pointing.

"W-why don't somebody go help him?" gasped the other. "He'll drown!"

"Don't know where to go to," answered the first speaker, shaking his head.

Fischer sank back, too exhausted, himself, to move.

"He'll drown! He'll drown!" he muttered. "He is tired to death from the race."

And after that there was another anxious wait, every one hesitating, wondering if there were any use venturing into the tossing water.

The storm was one that came in gusts; its first minute's fury past, there was a brief let up in its violence, and the darkness that the black clouds had brought with them yielded to the daylight for a while. During that time those on the shore got one brief glimpse of a startling panorama.

The boat was sighted first, still skimming along before the gale, but obviously laboring with the water she had shipped. The frightened occupant was still in the stern, clinging to the gunwale with terror. There was a shout raised when the boat was noticed, and all eyes were bent upon it anxiously. Then some one, chancing a glance down the river below, caught a glimpse of a moving head.

"There's Mallory!" he cried. "Hooray!"

There was Mallory, and Mallory was swimming desperately, as the crowd could dimly see. For the boat he was aiming at was just a little farther out in the stream than he, and bearing swiftly down upon him. Whatever happened must happen with startling rapidity, and the crowd knew it, and forebore to shout—almost to breathe.

The boat plunged on; the swimmer fairly leaped through the waves. Nearer it came, nearer—up to him—past him! No! For, as it seemed, the bow must cleave his body, the body was seen to leap forward with it. He had caught the boat! And a wild cheer burst from the spectators.

"He's safe! He's safe!"

But the cheer, as it died out, seemed to catch in their throats, and to change into a gasp of suspense, and then of horror.

Mallory had clung to the bow for a moment, as if too exhausted to move. His body, half submerged, had cut a white furrow in the water, drawn on by the plunging boat. Then the girl, in an evil moment, released her hold and sprang forward to help him. She caught his arm, and he flung himself upon the boat.

And then came the crash.

Leaning to one side, with the sudden weight, the boat half turned, and then gibed with terrific violence. The great boom swung around like a giant club, driven by the pressure of the wind upon the vast surface of the sail. The watchers gave a half-suppressed gasp, Mallory was seen to put out his arm, and the next instant the blow was struck.

It hit the girl with a crash that those on shore thought they heard; it flung her far out into the water, and almost at the same instant Mallory was seen to leap out in a low, quick dive. Then, as if the scene was over, and the book shut, the rain burst out again in its fury, and the darkness of the raging storm shut it all out.

This time there could be no mistaking duty; the cadets knew now where the struggling pair were, and they had no reason to hesitate. First to move was one of a group of six anxious plebes, who had been waiting in agony; it was Texas, and the spectators saw him plunge into the water and vanish in the driving rain. Then more of that crowd followed him; Fischer, too, sprang up, exhausted though he was, and in the end there were at least a dozen sturdy lads swimming with all their might toward the spot where Mallory had been seen to leap.

They were destined, however, to do but little good; so we shall stay by those upon the shore.

The weakening of Bull Harris' followers has been mentioned; it increased as the plebe's self-sacrificing daring was shown.

"He certainly is spunky," one of the crowd ventured to mutter, as he shivered and watched. "I hope he gets ashore."

And Bull turned upon him with a savage oath.

"You fool!" he cried. "You confounded fool! If he does, I could kill him! Kill him! Do you hear me?"

There are some natures like that. Have you read the tale of Macauley's?—

There was just such a hero then battling with the waves as now—

And on the other hand—

There were few of Bull's crowd as hardened in their hatred as was he; Murray was one, and the sallow Vance another. Baby Edwards followed suit, of course. But, as for the rest of them, they were thinking.

"I don't care!" vowed one. "I'm sorry we've got him fired."

"Do you mean," demanded Bull, in amazement, "that you're not going to keep the promise you made a while ago?"

"That's what I do!" declared the other, sturdily. "I think he deserves to stay!"

And Bull turned away in alarm and disgust.

"Fools!" he muttered to himself. "Fools!" and gritted his teeth in rage. "I hope he's never seen again."

It seemed as if that might happen; the cadets during all this time had been standing out in the driving rain, striving to pierce the darkness of the storm. From the river came an occasional shout from some one of the rescue party; but no word from the plebe or the girl.

Once the watchers caught sight of a figure swimming in; it proved to be Fischer once more. The cadets had rushed toward him with sudden hope, but he shook his head, sadly.

"Couldn't—couldn't find him," he panted, shaking the water from his hair and shielding his face from the driving rain. "I was too tired to stay long."

The storm swept by in a very short while. Violence such as that cannot last long in anything. While the anxious cadets raced up and down the shore, each striving to catch a glimpse of Mallory, the dark clouds sailed past and the rain settled into an ordinary drizzle. The surface of the white-capped river became visible then, and gradually the heads of the swimmers came into view.

"There's Billy Williams!" was the cry. "And that's Texas, way over there. Here's Parson Stanard! And Jones!"

And so on it went, but no Mallory. Those on the shore could not see him and those in the river had no better luck. Most of them had begun to give up in despair, when the long-expected cry did come. For Mark was not dead by a long shot.

A shout came from a solitary straggler far down the stream, and the straggler was seen to plunge into the water. Those on the shore made a wild dash for the spot and those in the water struck out for the shore so as to join them. And louder at last swelled the glad cry.

"Here he is! Hooray!"

The plebe was about a hundred yards from the shore, and swimming weakly; the girl, still unconscious, was floating upon her back—and her rescuer, holding her by the arms—was slowly towing her toward the shore.

A dozen swam out to aid him as soon as he was seen; strong arms lifted the girl and bore her high upon the bank, others supporting the half-fainting plebe to a seat.

"Is she dead?" was Mark's first thought, as soon as he could speak at all.

"I don't know," said Fischer, chafing the girl's hands and watching for the least sign of life. "Somebody hustle up for the doctor there! Quick!"

Several of the cadets set out for the hospital at a run; and the rest gathered about the two and offered what help they could.

"It's Judge Fuller's daughter," said Fischer, who was busily dosing the unconscious figure with a flask of reddish liquid surreptitiously produced by one of the cadets.

"Do you know her?" inquired Mark, in surprise.

"Know her!" echoed half the bystanders at once. "Why, she lives just across the river!"

"That's an ugly looking wound on the head there," continued Fischer, bending over the prostrate form. "Gosh! but that boom must have struck her. And here, Mallory," he added, "you'd best take a taste of this brandy. You look about dead yourself."

"No, I thank you," responded Mark, smiling weakly. "I'm all right. Only I'm glad it's all over and——"

Mark got no farther; as if to mock his words came a cry that made the crowd whirl about and look toward the river in alarm.

"Help! Help!"

"By George!" cried Fischer, "it's one of the fellows!"

"It's Alan!" shouted Mark. "Alan Dewey!"

And before any one could divine his intention he sprang up and made a dash for the river. For Mark knew how Dewey had come there; he had swum out, cripple though he was, to hunt for him; and with his one well arm, poor gallant Dewey was finding trouble in getting back.

Mark had been quick, but Fischer was a bit too quick for him and seized him by the arm.

"Come back here!" he commanded, sternly. "And don't be a fool. You're near dead. Some of you fellows swim out and tow that plebe in."

Half a dozen had started without being asked; and Mark's overzealous friend was grabbed by the hair and arms and feet and rushed in in great style. He came up smiling as usual.

"Got out too far, b'gee!" he began. "Very foolish of me! Reminds me of a story I once heard—— Oh, say!"

This last explanation came as the speaker caught sight of the figure of the young girl; and his face lost its smile on the instant.

"She's alive, isn't she?" he cried.

"Don't know," said Fischer. "Here comes the doctor now."

"Well, she certainly is a beautiful girl!" responded Dewey, shaking his head. "B'gee, we don't want that kind to die!"

The doctor was coming on a run; and a minute later he was kneeling beside the young girl's body.

"Jove!" he muttered. "Almost a fractured skull! No, she's alive! See here, who got her out?"

"Mr. Mallory," responded the captain, turning toward where Mark had sat. And then he gave vent to a startled exclamation.

"Good heavens! He's fainted! What's the matter?"

"Fainted?" echoed the surgeon, as he noticed the young man's white lips and bloodless cheek. "Fainted! I should say so! Why, he's almost as near dead as she! We must take him to the hospital."

CHAPTER XXVIII.
MARK MEETS THE SUPERINTENDENT.

"Wasn't it rather reckless, judge," inquired the other, "for you to allow her to go sailing alone?"

"She is used to the boat," responded Judge Fuller, "but no one on earth could have handled it in such a gale. I do not remember to have seen such a one in all the time I have lived up here."

"Nor I, either," said the superintendent. "It was so dark that I could scarcely see across the parade ground. It is almost miraculous that Mallory should have succeeded in finding the boat as he did."

"Tell me about it," put in the other. "I have not been able to get a consistent account yet."

"Cadet Captain Fischer told me," responded the colonel. "It seems that he and Mallory were just at the finish of a swimming race when the storm broke. They caught sight of the boat with your daughter in it coming down stream. The plebe turned, exhausted though he was, and headed for it. It got so dark then that those on shore could scarcely see; but the lad managed to catch the boat as it passed and climbed aboard. Just then the boom swung round and flung the girl into the water. Mallory dived again at once——"

"Splendid!" interrupted the other.

"And swam ashore with her."

"And then fainted, they say," the judge added.

"Yes," said Colonel Harvey. "Dr. Grimes told me that it was one of the worst cases of exhaustion he had ever seen. But the lad is doing well now; he appears to be a very vigorous youngster—and I've an idea several of the yearlings found that out to their discomfort. The doctor told me that he thought he would be out this morning; the accident was only two days ago."

"That is fortunate," responded the other. "The boy is too good to lose."

"He appears to be a remarkable lad generally," continued the superintendent. "I have heard several tales about him. Some of the stories came to me 'unofficially,' as we call it, and I don't believe Mallory would rest easily if he thought I knew of them. Young Fischer, who's a splendid man himself, I'll tell you, informed me yesterday that the plebe had earned his admission fee by bringing help to a wrecked train and telegraphing the account to a New York paper."

"I heard he had been in some trouble about demerits," put in Judge Fuller.

"In very serious trouble. I had to take a very radical step to get him out of it. Every once in a while I find that some new cadet is being 'skinned,' as the cadets call it, demerited unfairly. I always punish severely when I find that out. In this case, though, I had no proof; Mallory would say nothing, though he was within five demerits of expulsion. So I decided to end the whole matter by declaring a new rule I've been contemplating for some time. I've found that new cadets get too many demerits during the first few weeks, before they learn the rules thoroughly. So I've decided that in future no demerits shall be given for the first three weeks, and that delinquencies shall be punished by extra hours and other penalties. That let Mallory out of his trouble, you see."

"A very clever scheme!" laughed the other. "Very clever!"

It may be of interest to notice that Colonel Harvey's rule has been in effect ever since.

There was silence of a few moments after that, during which Judge Fuller tapped the floor with his cane reflectively.

"You promised to let me see this Mallory," he said, suddenly. "I'm ready now."

By way of answer, the superintendent rang a bell upon his desk.

"Go over to the hospital," he said to the orderly who appeared in the doorway, "and find out if Cadet Mallory is able to be about. If he is, bring him here at once."

The boy disappeared and the colonel turned to his visitor and smiled.

"Is that satisfactory?" he inquired.

"Very!" responded the other. "And I only wish that you could send for my daughter to come over, too. I hope those surgeons are taking care of her."

"As much as if she were their own," answered the colonel. "I cannot tell you how glad I was to learn that she is beyond danger."

"It is God's mercy," said the other, with feeling. "She could not have had a much narrower escape."

And after that neither said anything until a knock at the door signaled the arrival of the orderly.

"Come in," called the superintendent, and two figures stepped into the room. One was the messenger, and the other was Mark.

"This," said the superintendent after a moment's pause, "is Cadet Mallory."

And Cadet Mallory it was. The same old Mark, only paler and more weak just then.

Judge Fuller rose and bowed gravely.

"Sit down," said he, "you are not strong enough to stand."

And after that no one said anything for fully a minute; the last speaker resumed his seat and fell to studying Mark's face in silence. And Mark waited respectfully for him to begin.

"My name," said he at last, "is Fuller."

"Judge Fuller?" inquired Mark.

"Yes. And Grace Fuller is my daughter."

After that there was silence again, broken suddenly by the excitable old gentleman dropping his cane, springing up from his chair, and striding over toward the lad.

"I want to shake hands with you, sir! I want to shake hands with you!" he cried.

Mark was somewhat taken aback; but he arose and did as he was asked.

"And now," said the judge, "I guess that's all—sit down, sir, sit down; you've little strength left, I can see. I want to thank you, sir, for being the finest lad I've met for a long time. And when my daughter gets well—which she will, thank the Lord—I'll be very glad to have you call on us, or else to let us call on you—seeing that we live beyond cadet limits. And if ever you get into trouble, here or anywhere, just come and see me about it, and I'll be much obliged to you. And that's all."

Having said which, the old gentleman stalked across the room once more, picked up his hat and cane, and made for the door.

"Good-day, sir," he said. "I'm going around now to see my daughter. Good-day, and God bless you."

After which the door was shut.

It was several minutes after that before Colonel Harvey said anything.

"You have made a powerful friend, my boy," he remarked, smiling at the recollection of the old gentleman's strange speech. "And you have brought honor upon the academy. I am proud of you—proud to have you here."

"Thank you, sir," said Mark, simply.

"All I have to say besides that," added the officer, "is to watch out that you stay. Don't get any more demerits."

"I'll try not, sir."

"Do. And I guess you had best go and join your company now if the doctor thinks you're able. Something is happening to-day which always interests new cadets. I bid you good-morning, Mr. Mallory."

And Mark went out of that office and crossed the street to barracks feeling as if he were walking on air.

CHAPTER XXIX.
THE SEVEN IN SESSION.