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Dick Hamilton's Cadet Days; Or, The Handicap of a Millionaire's Son

by Howard Roger Garis · English · Gutenberg #33926 · 341,878 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Dick Hamilton's Cadet Days; Or, The Handicap of a Millionaire's Son

Author: Howard Roger Garis


        
Release date: October 14, 2010 [eBook #33926]

Language: English

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    [Illustration: "ALLOW ME TO PRESENT MY FRIEND, DICK HAMILTON."
                                                       _Page_ 175.
     _Dick Hamilton's Cadet Days._]




    DICK HAMILTON'S CADET DAYS
    OR
    THE HANDICAP OF A MILLIONAIRE'S SON

    BY
    HOWARD R. GARIS

    AUTHOR OF "DICK HAMILTON'S FORTUNE," "FROM OFFICE BOY TO
    REPORTER," "LARRY DEXTER, REPORTER," "LARRY DEXTER'S GREAT
    SEARCH," ETC.

    _ILLUSTRATED_

    THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO.
    CLEVELAND, O. NEW YORK, N. Y.


    Copyright, 1910, by
    GROSSET & DUNLAP

    _Printed in the United States of America_
    by
    THE COMMERCIAL BOOKBINDING CO.
    CLEVELAND, O.




PREFACE.


MY DEAR BOYS:

When I had finished the first volume of this series, telling of the
doings of Dick Hamilton, the young millionaire, I was in some doubt as
to just how you would like it. I hoped that you would be pleased with
it, and interested in Dick and his chums, and what they did, but I could
not be sure of it.

That you did care for it, I am now assured, and I am glad to be able to
give you the second volume, relating some of Dick's experiences while at
a leading military school.

You will recall that, after he had come into possession of his great
fortune, by fulfilling certain conditions of his mother's will, there
were still other things for him to do; matters that his mother had
planned before her death. One of these was to make sure that her son
would get a good military training.

Dick went to Kentfield Academy, but, to his surprise, he met with a very
cold reception from the other cadets. Ray Dutton, not understanding
that, in spite of our hero's wealth, he was a fine chap, influenced the
other students against Dick, and, for a time, the young millionaire was
very lonely in the big school. But he resolved to fight his own battles,
and become popular in spite of his wealth.

Uncle Ezra brought him bad news, but it was the means of great good luck
for Dick, though Grit, the bulldog, seemed to regard the crabbed old man
as his master's enemy, and chased him from the school.

All this you will find set down in the present volume, and also an
account of how Dick was instrumental in locating a long missing soldier,
and how, when the society house of the Sacred Pig burned down, without
any insurance being in force, Dick, with his wealth, came to the aid of
the surprised cadets.

    Yours sincerely,
        HOWARD R. GARIS.




CONTENTS.


    CHAPTER                                          PAGE

         I.      DICK GETS A TELEGRAM                   1

        II.      A CHANGE IN PLANS                     14

       III.      GRIT ROUTS UNCLE EZRA                 25

        IV.      IN WHICH DICK STARTS OFF              35

         V.      AN ODD CHARACTER                      42

        VI.      THE HAZING                            51

       VII.      DICK THINKS HE HAS A CLUE             62

      VIII.      DICK GETS A FALL                      72

        IX.      WHO FIRED THE GUN                     78

         X.      DICK HAS A FIGHT                      85

        XI.      DICK GIVES A SPREAD                   92

       XII.      AN ANGRY FARMER                      100

      XIII.      A NARROW ESCAPE                      108

       XIV.      CAPTAIN HANDLEE'S VISIT              117

        XV.      ON THE GRIDIRON                      121

       XVI.      FOR THE PRIZE TROOP                  128

      XVII.      DICK IN TROUBLE                      135

     XVIII.      A DISMAL CHRISTMAS                   144

       XIX.      THE MARKSMAN'S MEDAL                 152

        XX.      DICK DOESN'T TELL                    159

       XXI.      THE FANCY DRESS BALL                 170

      XXII.      THE CHALLENGE                        181

     XXIII.      A WINTER MARCH                       190

      XXIV.      THE RESCUE OF DUTTON                 199

       XXV.      OFF TO CAMP                          208

      XXVI.      THE SHAM BATTLE                      215

     XXVII.      DICK WINS THE CONTEST                228

    XXVIII.      UNCLE EZRA AT KENTFIELD              235

      XXIX.      DICK'S GREAT RUN                     243

       XXX.      A BROADSWORD COMBAT                  251

      XXXI.      DICK WRITES A CHECK--CONCLUSION      261




DICK HAMILTON'S CADET DAYS




CHAPTER I

DICK GETS A TELEGRAM


"Hi boys! Here goes for a double summersault!"

"Bet you don't do it, Frank."

"You watch."

"Every time you try it you come down on your back," added another lad of
the group of those who were watching one of their companions poised on
the end of a spring-board.

"Well, this time I'm going to do it just like that circus chap did," and
Frank Bender, who had an ambition to become an acrobat, raised his hands
above his head and crouched for a spring.

"If you do it I'll follow," said another boy, clad in a bright red
bathing suit.

"Good for you, Dick!" exclaimed Walter Mead. "Don't let Frank stump
you."

"Here I go!" cried Frank, and, a moment later, he sprang from the
spring-board, leaped high into the air, and, turning over twice, came
down in true diver style, his hands cleaving the water beneath which he
disappeared.

"Good!" cried the boys on the shore.

"I didn't think he'd do it," remarked "Bricktop" Norton, so called from
his shock of red hair.

"Me either," added Fred Murdock. "Now it's up to you, Dick."

"That's right."

Dick Hamilton rose from a log on which he was sitting. He was a tall,
clean-cut chap, straight as an arrow, with an easy grace about him, and
it needed but a glance to show that he was of athletic build. His red
bathing suit, from which protruded bronzed arms and legs, was
particularly becoming to him.

"There--let's--see--you--do--that!" spluttered Frank, as he came up,
some distance from where he had gone down. He shook his head to rid his
eyes and ears of water, and struck out for shore.

"Stay there!" called Dick. "I'll swim out farther than you did."

"Dick's cutting out some work for himself," remarked Bricktop, in a low
tone to Bill Johnson. "Frank's a dandy swimmer."

"Yes, but Dick Hamilton usually does what he sets out to do," replied
Bill. "There he goes."

Dick walked to the end of the spring-board. He teetered up and down on
it two or three times, testing the balance of the long plank. Then he
took a few steps backward, poised for an instant, and ran forward.

"There he goes!" called Walter.

Like a rubber ball Dick Hamilton arose in the air. He curled himself up
into a lump as he leaped, and then, to the surprise of his companions,
he turned over not twice, but three times ere he struck the water, which
closed up over his feet as they disappeared.

"Well--wouldn't that sizzle your side combs!" cried Bricktop. "Three
times!"

"A triple!" added Walter Mead. "Whoever would think Dick could do it!"

"Aw, he's been practicing," called Frank, as he circled about in the
water, watching for Dick to come up. "He's been doing it on the sly, and
he's kept quiet about it."

"Just like Dick," added Bill. "He isn't satisfied to do ordinary
stunts."

"Well, he's done a good one this time," said Fred Murdock. "Say, isn't
he staying under a long time?"

There was no sight of the millionaire youth.

"Maybe he hit his head on a rock," suggested Bricktop, in some alarm.

"That's so," went on Fred. "This place isn't any too deep, and he came
down hard."

"Maybe we'd better go in after him," remarked Walter.

"Dive down!" called Bill to Frank.

The boys were becoming frightened. Not a ripple, save the little waves
made by Frank, as he stood upright, treading water, disturbed the
expanse of the swimming hole. There was no sign of Dick Hamilton. Frank
prepared for a dive, when, suddenly, at some distance from shore
something shot up through the water. It was the hand and arm of a boy.
An instant later his head and shoulders popped into view.

"There he is!" cried Walter.

"It's about time he came up," said Bill, somewhat sharply, for Dick's
long under-water swim had frightened the boys.

"How's that, fellows?" asked Dick, as he shook the water from his face,
and struck out for shore.

"You win!" cried Frank, "but please don't give us heart disease again."

"Why; what's the matter?"

"We'd thought you'd struck on a stone and weren't going to come up
again."

"No danger of that," answered Dick, with a laugh. "I'm having too much
fun at camp here, to stay down there. Did I make a good dive?"

"Did you? Say, you've got us all beat to a pig's whisper on Fourth of
July," admitted Bricktop. "How'd you do it?"

"Yes, I wish you'd show me," added Frank. "You must have been practicing
it."

"I have," admitted Dick. "It's easy when you know how. After you do a
double summersault, all you have to do--is to make another one, making
three in all, and you can see that I had nothing concealed up my sleeve,
and----"

"And you did it without the aid of a net," added Fred, after the
fashion of the ringmaster in a circus announcing some marvelous feat.

"I'm going to try it," said Frank, as he clambered out on the bank.

"No, I think we've been in the water long enough this morning," said
Dick. "Besides it's most grub time. I don't know how you feel about it,
but I think I could nibble at a bit of roast chicken, which I happen to
know that our esteemed cook, Hannibal Caesar Erastus Jones, has in the
oven."

"Ah! Um!" murmured Bill Johnson.

"That's it! Make a noise like a lunch-grabber!" objected Fred. "I should
think you'd be ashamed of yourself."

"Oh, listen to the professor at the breakfast table!" cried Bill with a
laugh. "I don't s'pose you're going to nibble at any; art thou,
Reginald?"

"Well, you just watch him," advised Fred. "He's got me beat, all right."

"Come on!" cried Dick suddenly. "First fellow at the dining tent gets
most of the white meat!"

He started off at a fast clip, the others sprinting after him, and he
would have won, but that he stubbed his bare toe on a stone, and had to
finish the rest of the distance on one leg, holding the injured member
in his hands, making, the while, wry faces at the pain. Bill Johnson won
the impromptu race.

"Hurt much?" asked Walter, as Dick limped up.

"Like sin. Say, Hannibal Caesar Erastus Jones, will you do me a favor?"
he asked, as the colored cook, who did the camp cooking, came from his
tent.

"Ob co'se, Massa Dick. What am it?"

"Just go back there in the woods and bring me the pieces of that stone I
broke with my toe. I want 'em for souveniers."

"Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho! Massa Dick, doan yo' go to playin' no tricks on me! Not
jest at de present auspicious moment," and the colored man grinned
broadly, showing a big expanse of white teeth, in an area of blackness.

"Why not, Rastus?"

"'Case as how de chicken am all done, an' if it ain't partook of
immejeet----"

"Never mind those souveniers," said Dick. "We'll be with you in the
twinkling of a flea's left hand eyelash," and he hopped into his tent,
and began to dress, an example followed by the other boys.

"Humph!" murmured Hannibal Caesar Erastus Jones, as he stood in the midst
of the camp, rapidly blinking his eyes. "Fust I eber knowed a flea had a
eyelash. But Massa Dick, he must know, 'case he's po'ful smart. But I
'spects I'd better git ready to serb up de grub, as dey calls it, 'case
dey's allers pow'ful hungry when dey's been in swimmin'. Come t' t'ink
ob it, dough, dey's most allers ready t' eat." And, chuckling to
himself, Hannibal started toward the cook tent.

It did not take the boys long to dress, and as they emerged from the
tents, their faces glowing with health, and bronzed from their life in
the open, they were as fine a group of lads as you would meet in a day's
travel, or, maybe a day and a half. They were all guests of Dick
Hamilton, who, as had been his custom for several years past, had taken
a crowd of his chums off to camp on the shores of Lake Dunkirk, a large
body of water near Hamilton Corners, where Dick lived.

"Ah! Um! Smell that chicken!" murmured Bill Johnson, as he lifted his
nose high in the air.

"There you go again! Displaying your lack of manners!" objected Fred.
"Why don't you wait in patience and dignity, as I do."

"Well, wouldn't that melt your collar button!" remarked Bricktop.
"Where's the glass case they took you out of, Fred?"

"Manners?" asked Dick, as he approached Fred from the side. "Excuse me,
but there's something sticking out there."

As he spoke he slyly extended his foot, and, a moment later Fred
measured his length on the carpet of soft, pine needles of the woods.

"Goodness me! Did you fall?" asked Dick, as he looked down, in apparent
surprise at his chum. "How careless of you."

"Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed Bill. "Come here, Fred, and I'll pick you up."

Fred arose, smiling rather sheepishly, but not at all angry. He brushed
off his clothes, and joined in the laugh that followed.

"It's your turn next," observed the young millionaire. "I'll have to
keep my weather eye open, Fred."

"All right," said the lad who had been tripped.

"Well, Hannibal--Alphabet--Jones; art ready for the gathering of the
clans who hunger after the flesh-pots of Egypt?" asked Dick.

"All ready, Massa Dick," replied the colored cook. "Come on."

"First down! One wish-bone to gain!" called Walter Mead, as he took his
place at the table set under the tent fly.

For the next five minutes the boys were so busy eating the roast chicken,
corn bread and other good things that Hannibal-and-the-rest-of-it-Jones,
with his knowledge of Southern cookery had provided, that they said not
a word. Then, with a long-drawn sigh of satisfaction, Bill observed:

"There certainly is nothing like a good meal."

"Unless it's two," added Bricktop. "I didn't much fancy Dick's plan of
taking a professional cook along when we came to camp this year, because
it used to be fun to do it ourselves, but our cooking was never like
this."

"Never, never, never!" exclaimed Fred. "I'll have a little more chicken,
if you don't mind, Dick."

"Certainly not. There's plenty."

"Yes, this is better than having to do it ourselves," said Frank Bender,
as he finished polishing off a juicy leg. "No dishes to wash, nothing to
bother with after you're through, only have a good time. Dick, you're a
brick!"

"As long as I'm not a gold one, it's all right," said the millionaire's
son. "But I thought you'd agree with me that it was best to take a cook
along."

"It sure is all to the pancake batter," observed Bricktop. "Well, I
don't mind if I do have a little more of the white meat, if you insist,"
he added, though no one had asked him to pass his plate.

Dick laughed as he helped his chum to some choice bits. Matters were
moving more slowly, now that the first edge of hunger was dulled, and
the boys were taking occasional stops to make remarks.

"What's the program for this afternoon?" asked Walter, as he drained his
coffee cup. "Are we going fishing?"

"Whatever you say," replied Dick, who, like a true host, always
consulted the wishes of his guests. "We can fish, take a walk, or go out
in the motor boat."

"The motor boat for mine," said Bill. "I want to get on a pile of
cushions and take a snooze."

"Well, wouldn't that give you the nightmare!" came from Bricktop.
"You're getting lazier every day, Bill."

"Help yourself," spoke the sleepy youth, as he slumped from the table
and stretched out under a tree.

"I guess a trip in the motor boat would suit us all best," observed
Dick. "Hannibal 'Rastus, just fill up the gasolene tank, will you?"

"Oh, why wasn't I born rich instead of handsome," murmured Bricktop, who
never would have taken a prize in a beauty show. "But my fatal gift
of----"

"Cut it out!" cried Walter, throwing a pine cone with such good aim,
that it went right into Bricktop's open mouth.

"Oh! Ah! Ug! Blug! Chug! Hum!" spluttered the discomfitted one. "Who
threw that?" he demanded, when he could speak.

Nobody answered, and, feeling in no mood to get up and chastise Walter,
whose sly grin proclaimed him the culprit, Bricktop stretched out again.

"Hark! That sounds like a wagon coming," observed Fred, as he sat up,
after a few minutes of silence.

"Guess it's the ice man," said Dick, for he had arranged to have a
supply left at the camp. He believed in having all the comforts possible
when he went into the woods.

"Doesn't rumble like an ice wagon," commented Bill.

"Sounds more like a load of steel girders," added Walter.

At this, Dick arose. He peered through the trees toward a seldom-used
wagon road, which ran near the camp. He caught sight of something
moving.

"It's a wagon, all right," he said, "but it isn't the ice man."

A few moments later a remarkable rig hove into sight. It consisted of a
rattle-trap of a wagon, loaded with all sorts of scrap iron, and drawn
by a horse that looked as if it had escaped from the bone yard. It just
crawled along. On the seat was a bright-faced youth, who was doing his
best to excite the animal into a speed a little better than that of a
snail. He jerked on the reins, called at the horse, and cracked his
whip, but all to no purpose.

"It's no use!" he exclaimed, as he looked through the trees and caught
sight of Dick and his chums. "He's got the pip, or something like that."

"Why, hello, Henry," called Dick. "What brings you away off here?
There's no scrap around here."

"I thought maybe you boys might have had one or two that you'd sell
cheap," said the young dealer in old iron, and there was a twinkle in
his eyes.

"They're all too lazy to fight, except me," observed Bricktop, "and I'm
too good."

"Stow that!" commanded Fred, making a pass at his chum, who jumped back
out of reach.

"Aren't you quite a way from home?" asked Dick, as he went up and shook
hands with Henry Darby.

"Yes, I am. But you see I'm driving around the country, collecting old
iron. This is my dull season, and I took my oldest rig, and started off
day before yesterday. I'm taking it easy--have to you know, on account
of my horse's health. His delicate constitution makes it necessary.
There doesn't seem to be much old iron about, and I've got this far,
without picking up a full load."

"Why don't you give some to your horse. Iron is good for the
constitution," said Dick.

"I thought of it, but you see all the iron I have is in long pieces and
sticks out all sorts of ways. If my horse swallowed any of it he'd have
more fine points than he's got now. So I guess I'll keep him on grain."

"But you haven't told me why you're away off here in the woods," went on
Dick. "Is there any iron about here?"

"No, not that I know of. I came to find you."

"To find me?"

"Yes. I have a telegram for you. I happened to stop in the village back
there, and while I was making some inquiries in the post-office, which
is also the telegraph station, a message came for you. The operator had
no one he could send with it, and, as I happened to know where you were
camping, I said I'd take it. He gave me a quarter for bringing it out,
and so I've made some profit to-day."

"A telegram!" cried Dick. "Why didn't you say so at first? Give it
here," and he held out his hand.

"I didn't want to scare you," said Henry. "I was breaking the news
gently."

He handed over the yellow envelope. Dick tore it open, and, as he read
the short message, he gave a start.

"No bad news I hope," remarked Walter.

"No, I guess not," replied Dick slowly. "But I've got to leave for home
at once."

"Leave for home!" cried his chums.

"Yes. This is from dad. It says: 'Dear Dick. Come home as soon as you
get this. Important.'"




CHAPTER II

A CHANGE IN PLANS


Following Dick's reading of the telegram there was silence among the
campers. They all imagined something had happened to Mr. Hamilton,
Dick's father, and they hesitated to give voice to their thoughts.

"Well, I'd offer to take you home in my chariot," said Henry Darby, with
a suggestion of a smile, "only I know you'd be two days on the road.
Though it might be a good thing," he added "for your father would hear
us coming long before he could see us, with the way this old iron
rattles. I wish some one would invent noiseless scrap iron."

"Do you--do you s'pose your father is--is hurt?" asked Walter, finally
putting into words what all the others thought.

"Not a bit of it," replied Dick, stoutly. "Dad knows me well enough to
say right out what he means. He wants me home, for some reason or other,
but I don't know what it can be," and he looked at the telegram in a
puzzled sort of way, as if the slip of paper would solve the mystery for
him.

"Maybe--maybe he's lost all his money," suggested Frank "and you've got
to give up the camp."

"No, I guess there's no danger of dad losing all his money so quickly,"
relied the young millionaire. "He had plenty when I came away, two weeks
ago, and he's got so many investments that he couldn't lose it all at
once, even if he tried. No, it's something else. I wonder what it is?"

"I s'pose the best way to find out, is to go and ask him, about it,"
suggested Henry.

"That's it," assented Dick. "I could telegraph, but he might be away
from home, and wouldn't get it. I guess I'll have to leave camp,
fellows."

"Then we'll go, too," said Bricktop.

"No, there's no need of that. I invited you out for three weeks, and
that time isn't up yet. You might as well stay. Hannibal will cook for
you, and if I can come back I will. Otherwise you stay here and enjoy
yourselves."

"We won't enjoy ourselves very much if you leave," said Walter
regretfully, and the others echoed his sentiment.

"Well, that's a compliment to me," declared Dick, with a smile, "but I
guess you'll manage to exist. Now I wonder how I'd better go? Henry, I
s'pose I could ride with you to the village, and take a train."

"I should advise you to," remarked the young iron merchant. "This nag
went to sleep four times coming out, and he's snoring now. No telling
what he'll do on the way back. He seems to like life in the woods. I
guess he must have been a wild horse once, and he's going back to
nature."

"He's not very wild now," observed Bricktop, tickling the animal with a
switch. "He won't even move."

"No, it takes quite a while to get him started," said Henry. "Usually I
have to begin the day before, to get him into action. No, Dick, I
shouldn't advise you to ride with me."

"What's the matter with the motor boat?" asked Frank. "You can go to the
village in that."

"That's so," agreed Dick. "You fellows can take me over, and bring her
back. We'll do it."

"Well," remarked Henry, as he began to take in the slack of the reins,
preparatory to starting the horse, "I guess I'll be going. I hope you
find everything all right at home, Dick."

"I guess I will. Probably this has something to do with business
matters. But, say, don't you want a bite to eat? We just finished grub,
and there's a little that these cannibals didn't stow away."

"Well, I do begin to feel the need of something," said the young dealer
in old iron. "The crackers and cheese I got in the village weren't very
filling."

"Tie your horse, and sit down to the table.
Hannibal-and-half-a-dozen-other-names will get you something. Ho!
Rastus!" called Dick.

"No need to tie this horse," said Henry with grim smile. "If I did he'd
imagine he was home in the stable, and go so sound to sleep that it
would take two days to wake him. I'll just put some oats down in front
of him, and, maybe he'll rouse up enough to eat them. That will keep him
from taking naps."

The youthful iron merchant did this, and, while he was making a
bountiful meal from what the colored cook set before him, Dick was
preparing to start for home, wondering, meanwhile, why his father had
sent for him so suddenly.

Those of you who have read the first book of this series entitled "Dick
Hamilton's Fortune," will need no introduction to the millionaire youth
and his chums. But you boys and girls who have not previously met him,
may desire a little introduction.

Dick Hamilton was the only son of Mortimer Hamilton, of Hamilton
Corners, not far from New York. The town was named after Mr. Hamilton
because he was financially interested in many of the industries of the
place. He was president of the national bank, owned large woolen mills,
a brass foundry, a lumber concern, and was head of a railroad and a
trolley line that added much of importance to the place. Mr. Hamilton
counted his fortune by the millions, and his son, who had inherited a
large sum from his mother, was also the possessor of substantial bank
accounts.

In the first volume there was told how, on a certain birthday Dick came
into control of a large part of his wealth, subject to a peculiar
condition of his mother's will. That is, he was to make, inside of a
year, a wise and paying investment of some of his funds, under penalty
of losing control of his fortune for a time, and having to live with a
miserly uncle.

This uncle, Ezra Larabee by name, of the town of Dankville, was Mrs.
Hamilton's brother. One of the conditions of her will was that Dick
should spend a week with his uncle before entering into possession of
the money, that he might see what sort of a life he was likely to lead,
in case he did not comply with the provisions.

Dick had a miserable time at Mr. Larabee's. He was not allowed to have
any fun, and his uncle even objected to him walking on the paths, for
fear he would disturb the newly-raked gravel.

Dick returned home, determined to make a paying investment if only to
escape his uncle's clutches. He did make several investments, by buying
real estate, some stock in a milk company, and some shares in a gold
mine. But they all turned out badly, and, while investigating the mine
by means of which he had been swindled, he had, with his chums, some
exciting adventures.

In Hamilton Corners, dwelt "Hank" Darby, a shiftless sort of man, and
his son, Henry, who was as energetic as his father was lazy. Henry
started to make money, in a small way, by collecting scrap iron, and
selling it, but his shiftless parent nearly brought the business to
grief. Dick became interested in Henry's efforts, and, as the young
millionaire had plenty of money, he loaned Henry two hundred and fifty
dollars, to buy out the iron business of a man who wished to retire.
"Hank" Darby, with an exaggerated idea of his own importance, elected
himself president of the old iron company, made Dick treasurer, and
Henry secretary.

Dick gave little thought to the money he had loaned his young friend,
but the time came when it was to prove of great benefit to him. One
after another his various investments failed, and he saw the time
approaching when he must go to live with his miserly uncle. His last
venture was to invest five hundred dollars in an airship, the inventor
of which hoped to win a government prize, which he promised to divide
with Dick. But the airship blew up, and Dick saw his next birthday dawn,
without, as he thought, having made his paying investment.

Uncle Ezra, who was much opposed to his nephew having so much money,
came, according to agreement, to get Dick to take him to Dankville with
him. But, at the last moment, something quite unexpected happened and it
was found that Dick had, after all, complied with the terms of his
mother's will, and he was, therefore, allowed to keep control of his
fortune. But, as told in the first volume, there were still other
stipulations with which he must comply.

Following the events told of in "Dick Hamilton's Fortune," our
millionaire hero had completed his course at a local academy. When
summer came he took some of his chums off to camp in the woods, and it
was there that Henry, who was still in the old iron business, found him.

"Well, I guess I'm ready," remarked Dick, as he came from his tent, one
of several that formed the camp. "I'll not take any of my things, for I
may be able to come back and finish out the vacation."

"I certainly hope so," said Bricktop fervently.

"Same here," added Walter and the others.

By this time Henry had made a good meal, and, as his horse showed some
signs of life, he remarked that he thought he would start, before the
beast got to sleep again.

"Did you gasolene the motor boat, Rastus?" asked Dick of the colored
cook.

"Yais sah, Massa Dick."

"All right. Now see that these poor kids don't get hungry while I'm
gone. Let 'em take pieces of pie to bed with 'em, to keep 'em quiet."

"Ho! Ho! Massa Dick. Deed an' I will. Pie to bed wif 'em! Ha! Ha! Ho!
Ho!"

The boys entered the motor boat, leaving Hannibal in charge of camp, and
they soon reached the village, whence Dick could take a train for home.

"Now, fellows, enjoy yourselves," he called to them, as they watched him
board the train at the depot. "I'll come back if I can. Better practice
that triple summersault, Frank."

"I will. I'll stump you, when you come back."

"I wish I didn't have to leave them," thought Dick, as he settled
himself in his seat. "I wonder what dad wants of me? But there's no use
worrying. I'll be home in about two hours."

He exhibited his pass, on which he was traveling, as his father was
president of the railroad, and then sat looking at the scenery, vainly
wondering, in spite of his efforts not to dwell on it, why he had been
summoned home.

"Well, Dick," greeted his father, when the young millionaire entered the
house. "You got back sooner than I expected."

"Yes, dad. I started as soon as I got your message. I hope nothing is
the matter."

"Nothing serious. The fact is I have to leave for Europe next week----"

"For Europe! And are you going to take me?"

"No, I'm sorry to say I can't. But I have other plans for you, which I
hope you will like. I unexpectedly received a call to England, to settle
some large financial matters in which I am interested, and, as I shall
have to be gone six months or more I decided to close the house up and
let the servants go. As that would make no place for you to stay,
unless you boarded, which you might not like, I decided to send for you,
and tell you what I propose. The reason I telegraphed for you is that I
will be so busy after to-day that I will have no time to attend to
anything."

"What are you going to do with me?" asked Dick.

"You remember," went on Mr. Hamilton, "that in her will, your mother
specified, in addition to making a good investment, that you must attend
a military academy----"

"That's so!" cried Dick. "I'd forgotten about that. Say, when can I go?
This beats camp!"

"Not so fast," cautioned his father. "There are certain conditions to be
fulfilled. Your mother had peculiar ideas regarding money. She wished
her son to become a success in spite of it. So she provided, under
certain penalties, which you will learn of later, that you were to go to
a good military academy to complete your education.

"There, as I told you once before, though you may have forgotten it, you
are to become popular with the students in spite of your wealth. You are
to make your own way without the aid of your millions. And this is no
easy matter. While many persons have a false notion of wealth, by far
the larger class attach to it only the importance it deserves. A rich
lad can, to a certain extent, become popular, but he will never have
the real, solid friends that some youth not so well off would win. So
you've got to make friends in spite of your money."

"That ought to be easy," said Dick, but he was to find it a harder task
than he had supposed it would be.

"So, as I have to go away, and close up the house," went on Mr.
Hamilton, "I have arranged that you are to go to the academy a little
ahead of time, about two weeks before the term opens. That will give you
a chance to find your way around the place."

"Where is it?"

"It is the Kentfield Military Academy, located in one of the middle
western states, and is near Lake Wagatook. Colonel James Masterly, a
friend of mine, is the superintendent, and I have written to him
concerning you. He gave me permission to send you on ahead of time, and
that is what I propose to do. You will have to get ready to go at the
end of this week. I hope you do not object."

"Not in the least, dad. We were having lots of fun at camp, but I'll
have more fun at Kentfield. Shoulder arms! present arms! Halt! parade
rest! Wow! Say, dad, this is the best yet!"

"Wait until you've spent a term there," advised his father.

"If I don't have to start until the end of the week, I might as well go
back to camp," said Dick, when he had calmed down a bit.

"Just as you like. From now on I shall be too busy to see much of you,
but I will make all arrangements."

"All right, dad. I'll go back to camp then. I can get a late train," and
Dick went to see what time it left, meanwhile whistling a succession of
military airs, from "The Girl I left Behind Me," to "Yankee Doodle."

He reached camp late that night, somewhat to the surprise of his chums,
and they spent the next few days in crowding in as much pleasure as
possible. When it became time for Dick to leave, the others decided to
go back home with him, as the three weeks were nearly up.




CHAPTER III

GRIT ROUTS UNCLE EZRA


"There's a man out in the vestibule who wants to see you, Master Dick,"
said Gibbs, the butler, one evening, a few days before the time of
departure to the academy.

"Who is it?"

"Captain Handlee."

"Tell him to come in." Dick knew Captain Handlee as an old soldier, who
lived in a tumble-down house on the outskirts of the village. The
veteran, escorted by the butler, entered shyly. Dick greeted him kindly,
and the old man began almost abruptly:

"Did you ever hear that I had a son?"

"No, I never knew that. Where is he?"

"That is what I want you to help me to find out."

"You want me to help you? Why, how can I?" asked Dick.

"I don't know that you can. I only hope so. Will you?"

"I will do all I can for you, but perhaps you want to see my father,"
for Dick had an idea that the old man wanted some money for some
purpose.

"No, I want to see you, Mr. Dick. You see you are going to a military
academy, and that is why I think you can help me."

"But I don't understand."

"Listen, and I will tell you. As you know, I am an old soldier, but few
persons around here know that my only son was a soldier, too."

"I certainly did not. I never knew that you had a son."

"Well, I did, and he was a fine chap, too. He enlisted in the regular
army, where I served my time, but for many years I have heard nothing
about him."

"What happened?"

"He was among the missing after his company was sent to quell an
uprising among the Indians, out west, many years ago. No word was ever
received from him, and I don't know whether he was killed, or taken
captive. I never heard anything about him, and now I think you can aid
me in locating him."

"But how can I?"

"By making inquiries at the military academy."

"But it is not likely that any one at Kentfield would know of your son."

"They might. When your father told me you were going there, he mentioned
that Major Franklin Webster, a retired army officer, was in charge of
military tactics at the school. Now Major Webster is an old Indian
fighter, and I thought that if you asked him, he might be able to get
some news of my son. Will you do this for me?"

"I will, gladly, but I have not much hope of the result."

"Perhaps it will amount to nothing," said the old soldier with a sigh,
"but it is the first chance I have had in many years. All my inquiries
of the war department resulted in nothing. Perhaps you may have better
luck."

"I hope so," replied Dick gently. "I will make some inquiries. What is
your son's name?"

"He was christened William, but his friends in the army called him
Corporal Bill."

"How would Major Webster know him?"

"Oh, easily enough. I have his picture."

The veteran drew a faded photograph from his pocket, and held the card
so that Dick could see it. "That's him," said the old man proudly.

The young millionaire saw the photograph of a youthful soldier in
uniform.

"Your son would be much older than that now; wouldn't he, Captain
Handlee?"

"Yes, I suppose so. I think he must have been injured in some way, and
forgotten his name. Otherwise he would have written to me. But I know
another way in which you could recognize him."

"How?"

"He was the best shot in his company. He was a sharpshooter, and one of
the finest. So if you can get track of a soldier, who is a good shot,
that may be my son, Corporal Bill. Will you try?"

"I will, Captain, I'll do my best."

"God bless you," said the veteran fervently. "And now I'll leave you.
I'd let you take this photograph, only it's--it's all I have to
remember--my son by," and his voice choked.

"I don't believe I'll need that," answered Dick. "I'll speak to Major
Webster, and see what I can do."

The old soldier, murmuring his thanks, left the house.

"Well," mused Dick, as he went to his room, "I'll soon be at Kentfield.
It'll be lonesome, at first, I expect, but the cadets will soon arrive.
And I'll try to find the captain's son.

"I wonder how I'll make out with the cadets? I don't see why I should
have any trouble making friends, or becoming popular, no matter if I am
a millionaire, and the son of one. Money ought not to make such a
difference. Still, as dad says, I may find it a handicap."

He looked around the room where he had spent so many pleasant hours. It
was an ideal boy's apartment, with everything the most exacting youth
could desire.

"I think I'll make out all right," Dick mused on. "But if worst comes to
worst, I have a plan up my sleeve which I think will work." His eyes
sparkled, and it was evident that he had just thought of some scheme.
"That ought to do it," he said, speaking half aloud. "If I can't win any
other way, I'll try that."

"Well, Dick," remarked his father, the next morning, "I suppose you are
all ready to go to Kentfield?"

"Yes. I've got everything packed. What will be your address on the other
side?"

"Oh, yes, I must leave you that. Here it is. You can forward me letters
in care of my London bankers, and they will see that I get them. I may
have to put in some time on the continent. By the way, Dick, I hear that
Captain Handlee called to see you last night."

"Yes, he wants me to help him locate his missing son," and Dick told his
father of the interview with the old soldier.

"Poor man," remarked Mr. Hamilton, shaking his head, "I fear there is
little hope for him. I once aided him in making some inquiries, but they
came to nothing."

"Do you know him?"

"Oh, yes, I have often aided him, and I would do more for him, but he is
too proud to accept charity. He is rather odd at times, and does not
remain at any employment long, or I could give him a good place. His
whole mind is set on finding his son. If the missing corporal could be
located it would be the making of Captain Handlee, for he would settle
down then."

"I don't suppose I can help him."

"No, I'm afraid not. Still, do all you can. It is barely possible that
Major Webster, or some of the officers who are stationed at Kentfield,
may be able to put you on the track, but I doubt it. Well, I think I'll
have to go down to the bank now. I'll see you to-night, and say good-bye
in the morning."

Not long after Mr. Hamilton had left, and while Dick was in his room,
packing some of his belongings, a maid who was new in the house came to
inform him that a visitor was in the library.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"I don't know, but it's someone, Master Dick, who your dog doesn't like,
for he's growling something fierce."

"I'll come down," said the young millionaire, and he hurried to the
library. As he entered a tall, thin man, with a curious little bunch of
whiskers on his chin, arose.

"Well, I must say, Nephew Richard," he began, in a rasping voice, "that
this is a nice reception for me. Your horrible beast nearly bit me. The
house is no place for dogs."

"I'm sorry that Grit annoyed you, Uncle Ezra," said Dick as he
recognized the miserly man whom he had once visited.

"Hum!" grunted the old man. "If I hadn't stood on a chair he would have
bit me, and then I'd get hydrophobia, and die. Your father would have
had to pay damages, too."

"I'm glad no such thing as that happened, Uncle Ezra."

"Hum! Where's your father?"

"Down to the bank. I can telephone, and let him know that you are here."

"It isn't necessary. No need of wearing out the wires that way. I can
wait. I hear he has some foolish notion of sending you to a military
school."

"I am going to a military academy, Uncle Ezra, in accordance with my
mother's wishes."

"Stuff and nonsense! A wicked waste of money! The ordinary schools were
good enough for me, and they ought to be good enough for you. It's a
sinful waste of money. Mortimer Hamilton ought to be ashamed of himself.
The money ought to go to the heathen. It's foolish."

"My father doesn't think so," replied Dick as quietly as he could,
though he was fast becoming angry at the dictatorial tone of his crabbed
uncle.

"Hum! Much he knows about it! The idea of putting such ideas into boys'
heads as fighting and killing. Hu!"

"But it might be useful in case of war."

"Stuff and nonsense! It's positively wicked, I tell you. I've come to
remonstrate with Mortimer about it. If he has to go to Europe, which is
another waste of money, he could leave you with me. I'd bring you up in
the way you should go. There's no nonsense about me, nor my wife,
either. If your father consents to having you come to my place, you'll
learn more than you would at any military academy. Stuff and nonsense!
Don't talk to me! I know!"

Dick could not repress a shudder as he thought of his uncle's gloomy
home in Dankville, a house amid a clump of fir trees, so dark, so quiet
and so lonesome that it reminded him of a vault in the cemetery.

"I think my father has made up his mind to send me to the military
academy," said the boy.

"Well, perhaps I can make him change his mind. He doesn't know what's
good for boys."

How Uncle Ezra Larabee could understand what lads needed, never having
had any sons of his own, was more than Dick could fathom, but he said
nothing.

"I'll wait and see your father," went on the crabbed man.

"I can get my automobile and take you to the bank," suggested Dick.

"No, you might burst a tire, and that would cost something to fix."

Dick could hardly repress a smile at the idea of a possible injured tire
standing in the way of an auto ride.

"What's that girl walking back and forth so much for in the next room?"
asked Uncle Ezra suddenly.

"That's the maid, clearing away the breakfast things."

"Hum! She'll wear the carpet out," commented the old man. "I must speak
to Mortimer about it. I think I'll caution her now."

He rose, to do this, but accidentally stepped on one of Grit's legs, as
the animal was reposing under a chair, where Dick had sent him to get
him out of the way. The dog let out a howl, and then a savage growl, and
made for the man he felt had purposely injured him.

"Hold him! Catch him!" cried Uncle Ezra, as he sprang away. "Hold him,
Nephew Richard!"

"Grit!" called Dick. "Come here!"

But the dog refused to mind. Growling and snarling, he ran after Uncle
Ezra. The latter did not stop to speak to the maid about wearing out the
carpet. Instead he kept on to the front hall, and to the entrance door,
which was, fortunately, open. Down the steps, three at a time, jumped
Mr. Larabee, the dog close behind him.

But, by this time Dick had caught up to his pet, and grasped him by the
collar.

"Grit! Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" he asked, but he could hardly
keep from smiling, while, as for Grit, he nearly wagged off his stump of
a tail, so glad was he at having routed Uncle Ezra.

"I'll go down and see your father at the bank!" cried the excited man,
turning when he was safely on the sidewalk. "The idea of having a
savage beast like that in the house. I'll see Mortimer and make him
change his plans. And I tell you one thing, Nephew Richard, if you come
to live with me you'll have to get rid of that bulldog," and, angrily
shaking his head, Uncle Ezra tramped down the street, walking slowly to
save shoe leather, though he was a very rich man.

"I hope dad doesn't allow himself to be influenced by Uncle Ezra,"
thought Dick, as he went back into the house with the dog. "We never
could stand it at Dankville; could we, Grit?" And the animal whined as
if he understood.




CHAPTER IV

IN WHICH DICK STARTS OFF


Mr. Hamilton came home early that afternoon, bringing Mr. Larabee, his
brother-in-law, with him. Dick was anxiously awaiting their arrival.

"Is that fierce beast in the house?" demanded the boy's uncle, as he
stood on the front steps. "If he is I'll not come in."

"I've sent him to the stable, uncle," replied the young millionaire.

"That's the proper place for him. Dogs are no good. They eat as much as
a man, and what you spend on keeping them would provide for a heathen
child in Africa."

Dick wondered if Uncle Ezra provided for any heathen children, from his
wealth, but did not think it wise to ask.

"Well, Dick," said Mr. Hamilton, when they were all three in the
library, "your uncle thinks it would be a good plan for me to leave you
with him, while I'm away."

"Yes?" remarked Dick, his heart beating faster than usual.

"It's the only sensible plan," said Uncle Ezra with a snort. "Your idea
of a military academy, where he'll learn to shoot and stab his fellow
citizens, is a foolish one, Mortimer."

"It is not altogether my plan," said Mr. Hamilton softly as he thought
of his dead wife. "Dick's mother provided for his future in her will,
and I must see that her wishes are carried out. Besides, I think a
military training is good for a young man."

"Stuff and nonsense!" exclaimed Uncle Ezra. "Neither you nor I had it,
Mortimer, and we got along. We're both well off."

"Money isn't everything," said Mr. Hamilton. "No, Ezra, I'm much obliged
for your offer, but I think Dick will go to Kentfield. He is to start in
the morning."

"Hum! It's a foolish idea," again snorted Uncle Ezra. "You'll live to
see the day you'll both be sorry for it."

"I hope not, Ezra."

"Well, you will."

"We'll not discuss that now. Will you have a cigar before dinner?"

"I never smoke. It's a dangerous and expensive habit."

"Slightly dangerous, perhaps, but I smoke very little. As for the
expense, I think I can afford it. This has been quite a prosperous year
for me--and Dick."

"What you spend for cigars would pay the interest on a large loan," went
on Mr. Larabee.

"Yes, but I don't need the loan," declared Mr. Hamilton with a smile,
"and I do feel that I need a cigar to rest me after my day's work.
However, I don't advocate tobacco for young men, and Dick has promised
not to smoke until he is of age, and that will not be for a few years
yet."

"Stuff and nonsense!" exclaimed Uncle Ezra, as he could thing of nothing
else to say.

"Perhaps you'd like a glass of lemonade before dinner," suggested Dick.

"No," replied the austere man. "I don't think I'll stop for dinner. My
visit here has resulted in no good, and the sooner I get back home the
better. Besides I've got a new hired man, and I'm almost certain he'll
set the barn afire; he's so careless."

"Oh, I hope not, Ezra," said Mr. Hamilton.

"So do I, but I'd be nervous all night and I wouldn't sleep. Then I
might get sick, and have to pay out money for a doctor, or some
medicine. No; I'll take the late train home."

"But that won't get you there until after midnight."

"That's all right. It'll be cooler then, and there won't be so much
danger of overheating the horse. When you overheat a horse you sometimes
have to buy medicine for him, and horse medicine is expensive."

Seeing that his brother-in-law could not be prevailed upon to remain,
Mr. Hamilton bade him good-bye, and Dick offered to take his uncle to
the depot in the auto, but Mr. Larabee would not hear of it. He would
walk, he said, and save the car fare.

"He's a queer man--your uncle," said Mr. Hamilton that night. "I guess
you wouldn't fancy staying with him; eh Dick?"

"No, indeed, dad. A military academy for mine, as Bricktop would say."

Dick was up early the next morning, when both he and his father were to
go away from home, each for a considerable time. The servants had been
provided for, and the handsome Hamilton mansion would be closed for
several months. Dick accompanied his father to the bank after breakfast,
and planned to go to the depot from there, some of his chums having
arranged to meet him at the station.

"Ah, good morning, gentlemen!" exclaimed a pompous voice, as Dick and
his father entered the institution, and the young millionaire saw "Hank"
Darby, ready to greet them. "I understand you are about to become a
soldier," he went on to Dick.

"Well, a sort of one," replied our hero.

"Ah, that's a grand and noble calling. I once thought I would be one of
the defenders of my country, but I was called into other lines of
activity," said the father of the young proprietor of the scrap iron
business. He did not specify what the other lines were. "It is indeed
noble to fight for one's flag," went on the shiftless man, "but it is
also noble to accumulate wealth with which to fit out armies. That is
what I am doing. I am accumulating wealth."

"How is it going?" asked Mr. Hamilton, who, as well as did Dick, knew
that Henry, the son, made all the money, which "Hank" spent as fast as
he could get any of it.

"Well, it might be better," said the shiftless one. "But I have a scheme
on hand."

"Another scheme, eh?"

"Yes, this is a very good one. There are enormous possibilities in it,
sir, _enormous_!" and "Hank" fairly stood on his tiptoes to get this
last word out with much emphasis.

"Well, I hope you succeed," said Mr. Hamilton, as he and his son went to
the millionaire's private office.

The final details for the trips of father and son were arranged. Dick
had his own bank account, and would not want for money. His father gave
him some advice, and then the two said good-bye to each other, Dick
having to leave before his father did, as the latter was to take an
express to New York, where he would get a steamer for Europe. Grit, the
dog, was to be left in charge of Henry Darby.

"Well, my boy," said Mr. Hamilton, as he shook hands with Dick,
"remember what you are going for. You're under a big handicap, but I
guess you will win. You did the other time, though it was a close
shave."

"Good-bye," said Dick, unable to keep back the suspicion of a tear.

"Good-bye," replied Mr. Hamilton, turning hastily to his desk, and
fumbling among some papers, which seemed to rattle unnecessarily loud.

On the way to the depot Dick met Captain Handlee. The veteran greeted
the lad cordially.

"So you're off to learn to be a soldier?" he asked.

"Well, I don't know that the military part of it amounts to much,"
admitted Dick, who had no false ideas about where he was going, "but dad
thinks the discipline will be good for me, I guess."

"That's right. Nothing like discipline of the right sort for lads. We
didn't have to learn to be soldiers in my time."

"No, I s'pose you just went right in and fought," said Dick.

"Indeed we did. That's what my boy did. Poor Bill! I wish I could see
him, or even hear of him again. You'll not forget your promise; will
you?"

"No, Captain Handlee."

"Remember he was the best shot in his company. He could drive a tack in
a board at a hundred yards. You make some inquiries, and I think you'll
get on the track of him."

"I will," promised Dick, but he had no idea in what a strange way fate
was to bring about the old captain's desires through him.

Dick found a crowd of his chums awaiting for him at the railroad
station.

"Here he comes!" cried Frank Bender, as he caught sight of Dick.

"Aren't you going to take your rifle with you?" asked Fred Murdock.

"I guess they'll provide me with a gun at Kentfield," answered Dick.

"But they won't give you such grub as we had at camp," remarked
Bricktop.

"Oh, I guess they will, but maybe it won't taste so good," replied the
young millionaire. "Well, boys, I guess this is my train."

All his chums tried to shake hands with Dick at once as the locomotive
pulled into the station.

"Don't forget to send me a souvenier postal," called Bill Johnson.

"Tell us how you like it," chimed in Walter.

"Maybe my dad will send me," added Bricktop.

"Tell us if you meet any girls as pretty as those here," was Fred's
contribution.

"Get on the football team," advised Frank.

"And the baseball nine," chimed in Bricktop.

By this time a number of passengers had their heads out of the windows,
to see who was getting such a send-off. Dick's chums shook him by the
hand, clapped him on the back, and fairly carried him up the steps of
the coach.

Then, amid a chorus of good-byes, the train pulled out, and Dick was
started on his way to become a cadet.




CHAPTER V

AN ODD CHARACTER


It was evening when Dick arrived at Kentfield, which, from the scenes
about the station, he judged to be quite a town of little importance.
There were few signs of life, scarcely anyone being at the depot, and
only a few passengers alighting.

"I wonder if I can get a carriage to take me out to the academy?" mused
Dick, as he looked about. "This doesn't strike me as being much of a
place, but the catalogue dad got showed quite an academy. I wonder where
it is?"

He saw a rather dilapidated hack standing near the platform, and,
walking up to it, addressed the driver.

"Can you take me out to the military academy?" he asked.

"Sure," replied the man, "but there's nothing to see. It isn't open yet.
Term doesn't begin until next week."

"I know," replied Dick. "But I'm going to attend there."

"You?"

The man seemed much surprised, but there was a noticeable change in his
manner.

"Going to be a student there?" he asked respectfully.

"Yes. I had to come on ahead of time."

"All right. Take you out there in a jiffy," went on the hack driver
briskly. "Got any baggage?"

Dick handed over his checks, and the man soon returned with his trunk
and suitcase.

"This doesn't appear to be a very lively place; not as much so as I
expected," remarked the young millionaire as he got into the vehicle.

"Oh, bless your heart, sir, you just wait until next week," said the
man. "Then this town will sit up and take notice. This is our off
season, when the military school is closed. But when the boys
arrive--wow! Say, then's when you got to look out. My! Oh my! But it's
fierce!"

"Do they--do they cut up much?" asked Dick, secretly glad that he was to
have a hand in it if the students did.

"Do they? Say, young man, when I start to drive a party of them cadets
anywhere I don't never know if we're going to arrive. Never can tell
when a wheel is coming off, or when my horses will start up, and leave
the coach behind. That's why I always use quiet animals. Them cadets has
life enough and to spare. Cut up? Say, jest you wait!"

"Well, maybe it won't be so bad after I get started, and make the
acquaintance of some of the boys," thought Dick.

But he little knew what was ahead of him.

"Is the academy far out?" asked Dick, for, as the hack was an open one,
he could converse with the driver.

"About a mile. We'll be there in a jiffy."

A "jiffy" must be quite a period of time, or else the driver's estimate
of a mile was different from the accepted five thousand two hundred and
eighty feet, for dusk changed to darkness before the hackman turned in
between two big, stone pillars, and the man announced:

"Here we are."

"I don't see anything," objected Dick.

"It's too dark. But the buildings are right ahead of you."

Then the lad was able to make out the dim forms of a number of
structures located in a sort of park.

"Where's the lake?" asked Dick. "I thought the academy was on a lake."

"So it is. That's on the other side. We're sort of coming in from the
back, but that's the shortest road from the depot. I'll take you right
to Colonel Masterly's quarters. He's the one you want to see, I guess,
being as you're a new cadet, and he's the superintendent."

"I suppose so," answered Dick.

A little later he alighted in front of a large brick structure, and the
hackman lifted down his trunk and suitcase.

"Do they expect you?" asked the driver.

"I think so," replied our hero, hoping that some arrangements had been
made for him.

A moment later a door opened, and a flood of light streamed out from a
broad hall. A man in semi-military uniform appeared.

"Who's there?" he asked, and, having spoken he began to whistle a few
bars from "Marching Through Georgia," ending up with a bugle call.

"Got a cadet for you, Toots," replied the hackman.

"A cadet?" and once more the man in the hall whistled a martial air.

"That's what I said, Toots. Give me a hand with this trunk, will you,
and tell Colonel Masterly that he's going to have company."

"My name's Hamilton," began Dick. "I believe my father arranged----"

"Oh yes, the colonel told me to look out for you," said the man who
looked like a soldier. "Come right in. The colonel will be here
directly. I'll take your baggage."

"Thank you--er Mr.----" and Dick hesitated, for he did not just know how
to address the person in the hall, and wanted to make no mistake in
bestowing a military title.

"Me? Oh I'm Sam Sander," said the man in the blue suit, apparently
surprised that his identity was not known.

"Yes, that's Sam," went on the hack driver, with easy familiarity, "but
nobody calls him that; do they, Toots?"

The other, who was helping to carry in Dick's trunk did not answer.
Instead he whistled the bugle call for "Taps," or lights out.

"Do they, Toots?" repeated the hack driver.

"Do they what?" inquired the soldier, who seemed to be rather absent
minded.

"Do they call you anything but Toots?"

"Nope. That's what they call me. I don't mind. I've almost forgotten
what my real name is. Toots is good enough I expect."

"He's a queer chap," whispered the hackman to Dick, as our hero paid
him. "Queer, but all right. He's a sort of general helper around the
grounds. Well, good night. I'll see you again maybe, when some of the
other lads begin to arrive. And then won't there be lively times! Wow!
My! Oh my! But them students certainly know how to have fun!"

The hackman appeared to relish the prospect, and Dick could hear him
chuckling to himself as he drove off in the darkness.

"Right this way, Mr. Hamilton," said Toots, which name we shall adopt
for him. "I will find the colonel for you----"

He stopped suddenly, straightened up, in spite of the suitcase which he
was carrying, and gave a stiff military salute.

"Mr. Hamilton has arrived, sir," he said, and at that Dick caught sight
of a tall thin man, with an iron gray moustache and imperial, coming
down the broad, well-lighted hall.

"Ah, Hamilton, glad to see you," said the soldierly-looking gentleman,
extending his hand. "I'm Colonel Masterly. You are a little early, but I
understand the case. Have you had dinner?"

Dick had not, and said so.

"Then you can dine with me," went on Colonel Masterly. "Sam, take Mr.
Hamilton's baggage to the room I told you to get ready for him. I'll
quarter you here for the present," he added, "until the boys arrive, and
then you will have a roommate. How is your father?"

"Quite well," replied Dick, and then he followed the superintendent into
a reception room. There two other military-looking men sat reading
books. They looked up at the entrance of Dick and the colonel, who
introduced them to the new student as Major Henry Rockford, commandant
of the academy, and Major Franklin Webster, U. S. A., retired, who was
in charge of military tactics at the school.

"That's the man of whom I must inquire about Captain Handlee's missing
son," thought Dick, as the two instructors shook hands with him. "But I
guess I'll wait a few days."

Dinner was rather a formal affair, and our hero did not in the least
enjoy it. The three men talked of matters connected with the prospective
opening of the school, occasionally addressing a question to Dick, or
making some general remark.

The academy more than came up to Dick's expectations when he saw it the
next morning. The school was made up of several buildings, consisting of
a main barracks, which was where he had spent the night, and which
contained the executive offices and class rooms, two other barracks, a
gymnasium, a large mess hall, a riding hall, a small hospital and other
structures.

They were grouped on a large plain, that lay at the foot of quite a
mountain range, but, what pleased Dick more than anything else, was a
large lake that came right to the edge of the academy grounds. It was a
beautiful sheet of water, and, from the appearance of a large boathouse
near at hand, Dick guessed rightly that the cadet-students spent
considerable time rowing and sailing.

After breakfast, under the guidance of Toots, who was detailed by
Colonel Masterly for that purpose, Dick was taken on a tour of the
grounds. He was particularly pleased with the big stable, which
contained a fine lot of horses.

"Are those for the cadets to use?" he asked Toots.

"Of course. Do you know how to ride?"

"A little," replied Dick, who did not believe in boasting, though, in
reality, he was a fine horseman.

"I'll certainly have a swell time here," he thought, as he strolled
about. He obtained permission to row out on the lake, and then was left
to his own resources.

After the first novelty of seeing the buildings had worn off, Dick began
to feel a little lonesome, and he wished that the week was up, and that
the other students would begin to arrive. But he found much to interest
him, and made friends with Toots, who told him many and various stories
of student life.

"Why do they call you Toots?" asked Dick one day.

"Well, I s'pose it's because I've got in the habit of tooting my whistle
all the while. I'm always whistling war tunes or bugle calls, the boys
say."

"That's so. What makes you?"

"I don't know, except that I'm fond of a military life. Some day I'm
going to war."

"Well, I hope you don't get shot," said Dick, as Toots left him, still
whistling.

It was a few days after this that Dick saw a new student arrive. The
lad, for reasons similar to those affecting our hero, had been sent to
the academy in advance of the opening of the term. Dick soon made his
acquaintance, and he found the newcomer rather an odd character. His
name was William Schoop, but he was called "William the Silent" by the
other cadets, so Major Webster said, from the fact that he did not talk
much. He used only single words where others would take a sentence, and
he often made gestures answer for words.

Dick and Will soon became friends, and the latter, who had spent a
previous term at the school, showed the young millionaire about the
buildings and grounds.




CHAPTER VI

THE HAZING


One morning, two days after the arrival of the silent lad, when Dick had
moved his baggage to his permanent room in the south barracks, the two
lads were strolling about the campus. Dick was beginning to wish his
companion was more sociable, when Will, with a sudden gesture, pointed
off toward the town, along the main road that led from the station. Dick
looked, and saw a cloud of dust approaching.

"What's that?" he inquired.

"Fellows coming," was all Will replied.

He started off toward the main gate, and Dick followed. The dust clouds
became larger, and approached closer. Then Dick saw that they were made
by two large stages, and, a little later, he could discern that the
vehicles were crowded with youths.

Above the rumble of the wheels could be heard laughing, joyous voices.
There were shouts, yells, cheers, whoops and cries.

"Three cheers for Kentfield!" called some one, and the resulting yells
caused the horses of the stage to prance more madly than ever.

A few moments later the vehicles had halted at the gate, and from them,
pell-mell leaped the cadets, returning to the academy after the long,
summer vacation.

"There's William the Silent!" cried one lad, rushing up to Dick's odd
friend, and shaking hands with him. "Hello, Will! How are you? Are you
the only one here, so far?"

William merely nodded. Then he waved his hand toward our hero.

"Dick Hamilton," he said.

Dick stepped forward to greet the students, expecting them to tell him
their names. From the group of cadets that had gathered around Will, a
tall, good looking chap, but with rather a hard, cruel gleam in his dark
eyes, stepped forth.

"What's your name, new chap?" he asked somewhat sneeringly.

"Hamilton--Dick Hamilton," replied the young millionaire.

"Oh, Hamilton--Millionaire Hamilton's son, eh?" asked Dick's questioner,
with an unpleasant air.

"I believe so," answered Dick, trying to smile good-naturedly in spite
of the overbearing air of the lad, who was no older than himself.

"I've heard about you," went on the other. "Fellows," he said, turning
to those surrounding him, "this is the young hostage of fortune who has
consented to dwell a while in our midst. I saw a little paragraph in the
paper a few days ago to the effect that Millionaire Hamilton's son had
decided to take a course at Kentfield Military Academy. That is he
condescended to inflict his presence on us. I'm sure the academy is
highly honored," and the lad made a mocking bow.

Dick felt the hot flush rising to his face. He had never been so
insulted before. An angry reply was on his lips.

"Millions don't go here, Hamilton," said another youth. "Your money
won't count, and the sooner you find that out the better. Come on,
fellows, let's see if old Toots is still alive, and then we'll have some
fun."

"Ta-ta, Hamilton, I suppose you brought a solid gold bedstead with you,"
said the lad who had first spoken, as he turned on his heel, and
followed the others. "Maybe you'd like to buy the place," he fired back
over his shoulder.

"You--you----" began Dick angrily.

He was stopped by a touch on his shoulder. He looked around, to see
William the Silent standing near him.

"Take it easy," was all Will said, but Dick understood.

Choking down, as best he could, his righteous wrath at the mean
treatment accorded him, Dick strolled down to the lake. Will did not
attempt to follow, for he understood.

Sorely puzzled over the conduct of those whom he hoped would be his
friends, Dick got into a boat, and went out for a solitary row. He
wanted to be alone and think.

"It's queer they should treat me that way," he mused. "I'm sure I don't
make any fuss about my money. Maybe they are afraid I'll try to, and
they're taking no chances. But they ought to give a fellow a show
first."

After rowing about for an hour Dick felt better. He resolved not to
force his friendship on the students, but to let matters take their
course. He had expected a little "stand-offishness" on the part of the
older cadets, who were always, more or less, inclined to be on their
dignity with freshmen.

"Well, I'll wait until some new fellows arrive," thought Dick. "I guess
I can make friends with them."

When he returned to shore he found that many more students had come in,
the next day marking the opening of the term. Among the lads were a
number of new cadets, as Dick could easily tell by their bashful,
diffident manners. He felt that he had somewhat the advantage of them,
for he had been at the place more than a week.

"Still, my only acquaintances, outside of the teachers are William the
Silent, Toots and the hostler," he reflected.

There was a notice posted on the campus bulletin board to the effect
that all new students were to report at the south barrack. Thither Dick
went, finding Captain Hayden, the head master in charge, showing the
boys to their rooms.

"Ah, Hamilton," called the captain, as he caught sight of Dick, "you are
to room with Paul Drew, on the second floor. Room Twenty-six is yours. I
think you can find your way there. Go up and take Drew with you."

A tall quiet youth greeted Dick with a smile.

"I'm Drew," he said. "I suppose you're Hamilton?"

"What there is of me," answered the millionaire youth. "Is this your
first term?"

He knew it was, but he wanted to say something.

"Yes. I'm from Kentucky."

"I'm a York Stater. Come on and I'll show you where we bunk."

The two made their way through crowds of new boys and were soon in their
apartment.

It was like all the others provided for the use of the students. It
contained two small iron beds, and was simply furnished.

"Here's where we'll be at home," observed Dick. "Have you any choice as
to a bed?"

"No, either one will suit me."

"All right, we'll toss up for it. Heads is the one nearest the window.
You call."

Dick spun a coin in the air.

"Tails!" cried young Drew.

"Tails it is," announced Dick.

"Then I'll take the bed away from the window. It's likely to be cold in
the winter."

"I don't mind. I like a cool breeze now and then. But stow away your
things and come on down. There's lots to see. I hope we get into our
uniforms soon. You've got yours, haven't you?"

"Yes," replied Dick's roommate. Dick had been provided with the
necessary dress uniform before leaving home, and he was anxious to don
it. The other uniforms were to be obtained at the academy.

The two boys, after hastily putting away their things, went down on the
campus, which was fairly swarming with old and new students. More boys
were arriving with every stage, and the shouts and cries, as former
acquaintances greeted one another, made the green sound like an athletic
ground with a championship match in progress.

As Dick and Paul stood looking about them, the young millionaire felt
some one touch him on the arm. He turned and saw William Schoop. Will
nodded his head to indicate that he wanted Dick to step aside for a
moment. Excusing himself from his roommate Dick walked a little
distance, following William the Silent.

"Don't mind Dutton," said William.

"Who's Dutton?" inquired Dick.

"Fellow that rigged you. He's an uppish chap, but he's a leader with
the upper classmen. Don't let him worry you."

This was a longer speech than Will usually made.

"But why should he be down on me because I've got money?" asked Dick.
"It isn't my fault."

"Very exclusive school, this," explained Will. "Patronized by old,
blue-blooded families, who pretend to have a horror of the newly-rich."

"But my father has been wealthy many years."

Will shrugged his shoulders.

"They seem to have a prejudice against you," he went on. "Don't mind.
It'll wear off. Dutton--Ray Dutton's put 'em up to it. He's a cad. Don't
mind him," and with that Will turned and walked away.

"Well, I guess I can get along without Dutton and his crowd," thought
Dick. "Queer, I never supposed money would make this sort of a
difference. It didn't at home. Well, I'll try to get along, but it's
evidently going to be up-hill work. Still, I'll do it, and, if money
stands in the way--well----"

Dick shrugged his shoulders in a sort of helpless fashion, and rejoined
Paul. The two strolled about, noting the scenes taking place on every
hand. They saw many cadets, obviously freshmen, and some of the latter
introduced themselves to Dick and his companion. They were Franklin
Boardman, Stanley Booker, Lyndon Butler and Eugene Graham.

"Let's stick together for a while," proposed 'Gene, as the boys called
him. "It'll soon be grub time, I understand, and we'll sit near each
other."

This suited the others, and, when the gong rang, summoning them to the
mess hall, the six lads went in a body, finding seats in a row on one
side of the long tables, which were served by colored waiters.

Discipline had not yet been put into force, and no one was in uniform.
The mess hall was a lively place, for the older cadets were continually
calling jokes back and forth to their chums, or jollying the waiters
whom they knew of old.

Dick and his new acquaintances conversed together, and, in spite of
their rather awkward feelings, managed to partake of a good meal, for
Kentfield Academy was noted for the excellence of its cuisine.

When the meal was nearly over Toots appeared in the hall, with a hammer,
and a piece of paper. He tacked a notice up on the bulletin board.

"Hey, Toots; what's that?" called Ray Dutton.

"Notice about appearing in uniform, Mr. Dutton," replied the odd
soldier.

"When's it to be?"

"To-morrow morning."

"Aw, tear that down, Toots, you imitation brigadier general you!" called
another youth.

"Sure. We don't want to tog up until the first of the week," added
another. "Swallow that, Toots, and tell the commandant you lost it."

"Orders is orders," said Toots firmly, hammering in the last tack, and
leaving the hall.

The afternoon was spent in assigning the new cadets to their classes,
and arranging for the courses of study. They were told that formal
drills would not begin until Monday, this being Thursday, nor would any
recitations be heard until then.

After supper, or dinner as it was called at the academy, the new boys
strolled about in little groups, Dick and his five friends keeping
together.

"I wonder where all the older cadets are?" said Dick, as he looked
about, and noticed that none was in sight.

"That's so, they have disappeared," added Lyndon Butler. "I wonder what
that means?"

They did not have long to wait for an answer. A figure slid up to Dick,
and, almost without turning he knew it to be Will. The silent youth
spoke but one word:

"Hazing!"

Then he walked away as silently as he had approached, and Dick turned to
his companions.

"I guess they're getting ready to haze us freshmen," he remarked.

"I thought they didn't haze here," said 'Gene Graham quickly. He was
rather a small chap, and seemed very nervous.

"I guess they do it in spite of the rules," said Dick. "Well, the best
way is to take what's coming, and bear it as well as you can. If you
don't it will be unpleasant for you. I don't believe it will be very
bad."

"Are you going to let 'em haze you?" asked Paul Drew.

"Sure," answered Dick.

"Then I guess I will, too."

"Well, I s'pose it's got to be," said little 'Gene with a sigh. "I hope
they don't toss us in a blanket, though."

"If they do, just lie still, and you'll come down easy," advised Dick.
"It'll soon be over."

That night, in their room, Dick and Paul heard the sound of footsteps
along the corridor. Then came smothered cries, and strange sounds in the
apartments adjoining.

"They're coming," whispered Paul.

Dick nodded grimly.

A moment later there came a soft knock on their portal.

"Well?" asked Dick, though he knew who it was.

"Open, in the name of the Ancient and Honorable Order of the Mystic
Pig," came the demand in a whisper.

Dick opened the door, and in rushed several of the older cadets, led by
Ray Dutton.

"Oh, we've drawn a millionaire!" Dutton cried, in sneering tones. "Well,
take the other chap first, fellows. Lively, now, we've got a heap of 'em
to initiate!"

Several lads seized Paul, who submitted with as good grace as possible.




CHAPTER VII

DICK THINKS HE HAS A CLUE


"What's it to be, Ray, the blanket, outside, or the ordeal of the
pitcher?" asked one of the cadets holding Paul.

"The pitcher, I guess," answered Dutton. "The blanket's getting too
tame, and we have so many to look after that we can't take 'em outside.
Any water in the jug, Beeby?"

"Full," replied a fat lad, taking up one of the two pitchers in the
room.

"Up with him!" commanded Dutton, and several cadets seized Paul in an
instant. Before he knew what was happening they had stood him on his
head, two of them holding each of his rather long legs upright.

"Hold open his trouser legs," said Dutton. "I'll do the pouring."

He had the pitcher full of water, and, as his fellow hazers made a sort
of funnel of the two legs of the victim's trousers, Ray poured the
contents of the water pitcher down them. The fluid spurted out at the
unlucky new student's waist and collar, and ran in a little stream over
the floor. Paul struggled but could not escape.

"Sop that up, fellows!" cried Dutton. "We don't want it to ruin the
ceilings below. Use the bed clothes."

The other cadets, who were not holding Paul, grabbed the sheets and
spreads from the neatly made beds, and piled them in the little pond of
water on the floor.

"Hand me the other pitcher, Naylor," commanded the leader.

"Better save it for----" and Naylor glanced at Dick, who was standing
quietly in a corner, under guard of several cadets, awaiting his turn.

"We'll not need it for him," replied Dutton. "Give it here."

Some one handed him the other pitcher full of water, and the fluid in
that, a moment later, went gurgling down the inside of Paul's clothes,
spurting out as had the other.

"You're initiated into the Ancient and Honorable Order of the Mystic
Pig," announced Dutton, making a sign to his comrades to let Paul regain
his feet. "Do you solemnly promise to be most respectful to your
superiors, and not to partake of ham and eggs or any form of pork until
after Christmas?"

"You'd better promise," said one of the cadets to Paul, who hesitated.

"Oh, I promise all right," he said, with a rueful smile as he looked
down at his soaked garments, and surveyed the confusion in the room.
There was not a dry article of bed clothing left.

"Now for the other one!" cried Beeby, making a grab for Dick.

The young millionaire was ready to submit to any form of hazing that
might be inflicted, but, to his surprise Dutton said:

"Never mind him. We'll let him go."

"Why he's a freshman," objected several of the cadets, evidently
thinking Dutton imagined Dick to be immune.

"I know it, but he's in a different class," went on the leader with a
covert sneer. "He might buy up the police authorities and have us
arrested for having a little fun. We'll let him alone. We're only after
common mortals."

Dick flushed.

"You're mistaken," he said as calmly as he could. "If hazing is in order
I'm ready to take my share. I assure you I won't squeal. I'm not that
kind."

It hurt him, to think that he should be taken for a "squealer." He, Dick
Hamilton, who had done his own share of hazing in the academy at home.

"No, thank you. It's too risky monkeying with millionaires," said
Dutton. "Come on, fellows."

The band of hazing cadets filed out of Dick's room, bent on subjecting
other students to their harmless pranks. As they left, Dick heard one of
them say:

"Aw, Dutton, why didn't we try the rope and window game on him? It would
have been sport. He looks like an all-right sort."

"He isn't in our class," replied the leader of the hazers. "He thinks
his money can get him anything he wants, but he'll find out he's
mistaken. It's a shame the faculty allowed him to come here, where only
the best families are represented."

Dick heard it all plainly. He realized how he had been misjudged, but he
resolved to live down the wrong opinion the other students seemed to
have formed of him. Or perhaps they merely followed Dutton's leadership.

And so Dick was not hazed, though he was the only freshman in all the
academy who escaped the ordeal, and, though many lads would gladly have
dispensed with the ceremony, Dick Hamilton felt as if he would have
parted with some of his fortune to have been included in the unfortunate
class. For, had he been, it would have meant that he was considered as a
future chum and comrade of the upperclassmen. But he had been left
severely alone.

"Well, you got off lucky," commented Paul, as he began to remove his wet
garments.

"Do you think so?" asked Dick, somewhat bitterly. "I rather wish they
had given me what you got."

"Why?" asked his roommate.

Dick told his reasons.

"I don't see why they hold my money against me," he added.

"I heard some talk about it," admitted Paul. "Some of the older cadets
have read the things printed in the papers about you; when you went out
west to investigate that gold mine, and when you hired the circus to
come to Hamilton Corners. They evidently think you depend on your money
to win popularity, and I heard some of them say you were to be taught a
lesson."

"They're beginning already," said Dick. "Perhaps you would rather not
room with such an unpopular chap as I seem to be. I guess I could get an
apartment alone, by paying double rates," he added, sarcastically.

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Paul. "I'm not that sort, and I don't believe
you'll find many cadets who are. I don't care for money, one way or the
other. I wish my dad had a little more. Don't let Dutton and his cronies
worry you. You'll have friends among the freshmen, anyway."

"Not if Dutton has his say."

"Well, perhaps he won't have it. He comes of a very old family, I'm
told, who have not much money, but who are very proud. I don't care for
him myself, but he's considered a leader here."

"My, you certainly got a soaking," commented Dick, as Paul stripped. He
was glad to change the unpleasant subject.

"I sure did," admitted the other "and what's more we've got to sleep in
a damp bed, unless we ask the housekeeper for other covers."

"No, don't do that. I would give the hazing away, and I might become
more unpopular than I am," and Dick laughed a little uneasily.

"I don't fancy sleeping between damp sheets, though."

"I've got an extra suit of pajamas in my case," said Dick. "You can put
them on, and we'll stretch out on the beds without covers.

"It's not cold. We'll take our medicine. Or, rather, I'll share part of
yours."

They passed a rather uncomfortable night, but did not think of
complaining. In the morning they compared notes with the other freshmen,
many of whom had had the same experience.

That day was spent in forming the new cadets into companies, and, to
Dick's disgust he found that he was in the company of which Ray Dutton
was the cadet captain, and John Stiver, a crony of the captain, was
lieutenant. Paul Drew was in Company B, Dick's being designated as
Company A. But our hero took some consolation from the fact that his odd
friend William the Silent was a sergeant in his company.

The new cadets were given their rifles, made to don uniforms, put
through a preliminary drill that afternoon, and told something of the
routine that would be in order when matters had settled down into their
usual grooves. Dick picked out his line of studies, received his text
books and took them to his room, where he found Paul.

The next day being Saturday the cadets had the afternoon free and they
strolled about the grounds, went off on horseback or rowing, as they
desired. Somewhat to his regret Dick noticed that a rule was posted
forbidding freshmen to go out rowing or riding alone after Saturday.
They must be accompanied by a teacher or cadet officer.

"They must think we're babies," he murmured.

"Well, when we get to know the ropes a little better," said Paul, "we'll
go out together."

That evening, when the mail was distributed, Dick received a letter from
his father, posted just as the ship was sailing. There were also several
missives from his chums at home, and quite a bulky letter, which when
the young millionaire opened it, he saw was from aged Captain Handlee,
and contained a photograph.

With many words, and a somewhat lengthy explanation, the old soldier
stated that he had had copies made of the photograph of his son, and was
sending one to Dick, to aid him in tracing the missing man.

"There, I nearly forgot about my promise," said Dick, recalling it as he
saw the picture. "I must make some inquiries of Major Webster as soon as
possible."

He took the photograph to his room, and placed it on a shelf, where he
would be sure to see it, to remind him of his quest, though he had
little hopes that it would amount to anything.

It was Sunday morning when Dick, who had awakened rather early, heard
steps coming along the corridor, and then came the whistled strains of
"Just Before the Battle, Mother," followed by the reveille, cheerily
warbled.

"That's Toots," said Dick to Paul, who awakened just then.

Toots stopped outside Dick's door and knocked.

"Come," cried the young millionaire, and Toots, the odd character,
entered, carrying a pail of hot water.

"One of the janitors is sick," he explained, "and I'm helping out. You
can use this for shaving or drink it, just as you like," he added with a
smile.

He filled the boys' hot water pitchers, and was about to leave the room,
when he caught sight of the photograph of Corporal Bill Handlee on the
shelf.

"Where--where did you get that?" he asked, turning quickly to the two
lads.

"Why?" asked Dick, much impressed by the manner of Toots.

"Because I--I think I know him--or did once," and the man set down his
pail of water, and drew his hand across his forehead, as if trying to
brush away some cobwebs. Dick noticed that there was a scar on the man's
brow.

"Where did you see him? When was it? Where was it?" asked Dick rapidly,
thinking he had stumbled on a clue.

"I don't know--I can't recollect, but the face--that face seems
familiar," and Toots, taking up the photo, gazed earnestly at it.

"That is the picture of the missing son of an old soldier who lives in
Hamilton Corners," said Dick. "Captain Handlee asked me to make some
inquiries about him. It's queer you should think you recognized it,
Toots. Were you ever in the army?"

The man shook his head slowly.

"I don't know," he said. "I'm a fine shot though. I ought to be in the
army."

Dick felt a new hope. The missing man said he was an expert marksman.
But then Dick recalled what he had heard about Toots; that the man had a
delusion that he was a sharpshooter, but that he could scarcely hit the
outer edge of a big target.

"Can't you recall where you have seen this man?" asked Dick earnestly.

Toots slowly shook his head.

"What was his name?" he asked.

"Corporal Bill Handlee."

"No, that name doesn't sound familiar. But I'm sure I've seen him
somewhere. I can't think--something seems to stop me here," and the man
again passed his hand across his forehead.

"Try," urged Dick.

Toots made a strong effort to recall the past, but it was of no avail.

He shook his head once more, picked up his pail, and started out.

"I guess I'm mistaken," he said. "But some day you boys must come and
see me shoot. I'm a dandy at it."

Then he went down the corridor whistling "The Star Spangled Banner," and
ending up with a spirited rendition of the bugle call to charge.

"That's queer," murmured Dick. "I thought I was going to get some news
for Captain Handlee. Well, I must inquire of Major Webster."

"Hark," exclaimed Paul, as a bugle sounded clear and crisp on the
morning air.

"Reveille--first call! Ten minutes to dress and turn out," said Dick,
who had been studying the rules, and he began to get into his uniform.




CHAPTER VIII

DICK GETS A FALL


At the chapel service, which the cadets were required to attend, Dick
saw, for the first time, all his fellow students gathered together under
one roof. They were a fine body of young men, and he felt proud that he
was one of them. Every one was in full dress uniform, and a spick and
span appearance the lads made, as they marched to and from chapel, to
the music of the cadet band.

Sunday seemed quite long to Dick, but he managed to spend some pleasant
hours, strolling about with Paul Drew, and some other new cadets. He was
glad, however, when Monday came, bringing with it many duties.

For the next two weeks Dick was kept so busy, being initiated into the
mysteries of the drill, guard mounting, parade, marching in different
formations, learning the meaning of the military commands, his studies
and preparing for inspection, that he had little time to think of other
matters.

He found opportunity to ask Major Webster concerning missing Bill
Handlee, and the tactical officer made some inquiries of the war office,
but all to no effect. All trace of the veteran's son seemed to have
vanished.

"But what do you suppose made Toots--I mean Sam Sander--think he
recognized the photo?" asked Dick.

"Well, you know poor Sam isn't quite right in his head," replied the
major kindly. "He received an injury some years ago, I understand. You
can see the scar on his forehead now. That made him rather simple
minded, though he is a good worker, and very useful."

"Then I'm afraid I can't send Captain Handlee any good news."

"I'm afraid not, Hamilton."

Dick had to write the sorrowful tidings to the old soldier, much to his
regret. The young millionaire also sent a missive to his father, telling
something of the life at the academy, but saying nothing of the manner
in which he had been treated. Dick bravely resolved to fight his own
battles.

He found the studies anything but easy, but as he applied himself to his
books, he stood well in his class.

In the meantime matters were beginning to move with military regularity,
and the cadets in their natty uniforms, presented at drill, or
inspection, inspiring pictures.

At first Dick, and all the new cadets, were rather awkward at drill,
but this was to be expected, and little was thought of it. On several
occasions though, Captain Dutton, who was in command over Dick, made
sneering remarks evidently intended for our hero, who, however, did not
reply.

With the exception of Sunday and Monday, the same general routine was
followed. Reveille was sounded at six o'clock, with a second call ten
minutes later. Then came "police" inspection, and woe betide the youth
who was not spick and span. Sick call followed, but usually it was a
mere form, for the cadets were as healthy as Spartans.

On Monday there was always general inspection, when it behooved Dick and
his fellows to have their quarters in good order. Plenty of time was
allowed for study and recitation, and there was much attention given to
military life. There were lectures on tactics, and they were followed by
practical illustrations.

"I wish they'd let us have a chance at the horses," remarked Dick, to
Paul, when they were studying in their room one evening. "The older
cadets have plenty of cavalry drill, but we have to march around,
carrying heavy guns, and doing all sorts of stunts like that."

"I understand we're to have our innings next week."

"Is that so? Good!"

Dick, and many other of the new cadets who loved horses were pleased to
see a notice posted, a few days after this, stating that instructions in
riding, and cavalry exercises, were to be given in the big shed and
would begin the following Monday.

"Now we'll have some fun," said Dick. "Aren't you glad, Paul?"

"Well, I don't care much about horses. I feel safer on my feet."

"Oh, you'll get used to a horse soon enough, and then you'll never want
to walk."

There were good horses in the academy stables, and, to his delight, a
fine mount was assigned to Dick. He made friends with the animal at
once, and when the "awkward squad" was put through their paces, Dick
earned commendation from the drill master for the excellent seat he
maintained.

For a week or more Dick and his fellow freshmen practiced every day in
the riding hall. The cadets who at first sat insecurely in the saddle
were beginning to learn how to maintain themselves, and one afternoon
the drill master announced that the next day they would be allowed to go
out on the cavalry plain.

"That's the stuff!" cried Dick. "I've been wanting a good gallop for a
long time."

"Guess we won't have much chance to gallop," replied Paul, who had been
transferred to Dick's company. "Dutton's so mean he'll probably keep us
at an easy walk. He thinks no one knows how to ride but him."

"I'll show him, if I get a chance," murmured Dick.

The cadets were formed into four companies the next day, and sent out on
the cavalry plain for practice.

"Now I don't want any exhibitions of fancy riding," announced Ray
Dutton, as he led the cadets over whom he had charge out from the drill
hall. "You've got to creep before you walk, you know. Just take it easy,
and we'll make a few circuits of the grounds."

"Pity he wouldn't let us gallop," said Dick, in a low voice to Paul,
beside whom he was riding.

"Silence in the ranks!" exclaimed the cadet captain sharply. "Hamilton,
if you speak again I'll report you."

Dick felt the hot blood mount to his face, but he kept his temper.

They went around at a slow pace, many of the lads chaffing under the
restraint. Then Dutton gave the command to trot, and they let their
horses out a trifle.

Whether something frightened Dick's horse, or whether the animal wanted
to take a good run and show the others what he could do, it was
impossible to say. At any rate our hero's steed gave a sudden spring,
and, rushing through the opened ranks of the cadet horsemen ahead of
him, sailed past Captain Dutton at a fast gait.

"Halt!" cried the leading cadet. "Where are you going, Hamilton? Come
back here at once! I'll report you! Come back!"

Dick tried to rein his horse in, but the animal had the bit in his
teeth, and it was useless to pull on the leather. Still the young
millionaire was not frightened. He knew he could manage the animal.

But Dutton, with a muttered exclamation, spurred after Dick.

"Halt!" he cried again. "Halt, or I'll place you under arrest for
disobeying orders!"

"I can't stop him!" Dick flung back, over his shoulder.

Dutton's horse was a fast one, and he soon caught up to the young cadet.
He crossed in front of him, wheeled about and, a moment later the two
horses collided violently. Dick was flung up in the air, and, the next
instant, came heavily to the ground, where he lay quiet, while his horse
bolted.

Dutton, who had retained his seat, looked down on the prostrate figure.

"Come. Get up," he said. "No shamming."

Dick did not move.

"Here, Drew, Butler, Graham!" called Captain Dutton. "Here's a chance to
practice first aid to the injured. See what's the matter with him."

The three cadets he had named galloped forward, while the remainder of
the company came to a halt.




CHAPTER IX

WHO FIRED THE GUN?


"Pick him up, and see if he's hurt," ordered Dutton though he did not
take the trouble to get off his horse to ascertain. "Very likely he's
only shamming."

But is needed only a look at Dick's pale face to show that he had had a
hard fall. The breath was knocked out of him.

The three cadets bent over him, and, while one raised him to a sitting
position, the others chaffed his hands. Dick opened his eyes, and stared
wonderingly about him.

"What--what--where am I?" he asked, and then he saw the mounted
students, he added, "I fell."

"Are you hurt?" asked Graham.

"No--no, I guess not."

But when Dick tried to stand he found he was so dizzy that his fellow
cadets had to support him.

"Take him back to the hospital," ordered Dutton, "and then you three
rejoin your company."

At that moment Major Webster, who had been drilling some of the older
cadets, in advanced tactics on a distant part of the field, came
galloping up.

"What has happened?" he asked. "Ah, Hamilton, eh? Are you hurt?"

"I fell off my horse. He bolted with me," replied Dick.

"Are you sure you're not hurt?"

"Yes; only a trifle dizzy."

"I'm sending him back to the hospital," announced Dutton.

"That's proper. Are you sure you'll be all right, Hamilton?" asked the
major kindly.

"Oh, yes. I believe I can ride now."

"No, I can't allow it. You must take a rest."

On the way back with the cadets, Dick insisted that he could go alone,
and did not need help.

"Orders are orders," replied Graham with a smile. "Dutton might make a
fuss if we didn't do as he said."

"It was all his fault," added Paul Drew. "He deliberately collided with
you, Dick."

"Oh, no; I hardly think he would do that!"

"But he did," insisted Butler. "He didn't need to gallop in front of you
that way. I looked just as if he wanted to unseat you, didn't it,
fellows?"

"That's right," added Paul. "I'd report him if I were you."

"Oh, no," answered Dick quickly. "There's no use making trouble. Even
if he did do it on purpose, I wouldn't gain anything by reporting him.
I'm no squealer."

"But you might have been badly hurt," said Butler.

"I wasn't though, and a miss is as good as a mile."

"That's a good way of looking at it," commented Paul. "I'd feel like
fighting him, if he did that to me."

"Say, I'm all right. There's no need for you fellows to come back with
me," went on Dick.

"If we don't Dutton may make a row," objected Butler. "We'd better do
it."

Not wanting to get his fellow cadets into trouble, Dick allowed them to
accompany him to the hospital, which was maintained by the academy.
There the surgeon in charge, a grizzled war veteran, felt of our hero's
bones, and announced, gruffly, that he was all right, but that he had
better rest a while.

Which Dick was glad enough to do, as his head was beginning to ache.

"Dutton must want to get rid of me," he thought, as he stretched out on
the bed in his room. "If he keeps on I shall certainly have a clash with
him, and then I s'pose there'll be trouble. I don't want to fight, but
I'm not going to submit to his meanness. I certainly am under a handicap
here. I wish I could ask dad to send me to some other school. No, I
don't either. I'll fight it out here, and I'll win, too, or I'll know
the reason why!"

Major Webster, when he returned from the drill, inquired how Dick felt,
and received the assurance that the lad was all right.

"We must give you a quieter horse," he said with a smile.

"Oh, no, I can manage him all right," said Dick. "Captain Dutton--er--he
and I happened to collide, or it never would have happened."

"Strange, Dutton is an excellent rider," commented the major as he
walked away.

A slight headache the next day was all the ill effect that Dick
experienced from his tumble. He appeared at chapel, and took part in all
the day's duties. For a week or more life went on rather uneventfully at
the academy. Dick had a letter from his father, stating that business
was likely to keep him abroad longer than he expected.

Dick also got a letter from Henry Darby, giving some news of Hamilton
Corners, and telling how Dick's chums missed him. The letter closed with
this:

"Grit misses you very much. He doesn't eat hardly anything, and he lies
in his kennel all day."

"Poor Grit," said Dick to Paul, and he told of his bulldog. "I wish I
could have him here with me."

"Why don't you?" suggested his roommate. "Some of the other cadets are
allowed special privileges, why don't you ask if you can bring Grit
here? You could keep him in the stable."

"I believe I will," said Dick, and he sought and received permission
from Colonel Masterly to do this.

A few days later Grit arrived, and he was probably the happiest dog
living, as Dick took him out of the shipping crate. The animal bounded
about, and fairly leaped over his master's head in the excess of his
joy.

Grit made friends with such few chums as Dick had among the freshmen,
and they were not many, for Dutton's influence seemed even to extend to
them. The advent of the bulldog appeared to further arouse the ire of
the young captain.

"I expect our millionaire cadet will be having a private menagerie
next," he said with a sneer. "But I tell you one thing, Hamilton, if I
catch the brute around my quarters I'll kick him out."

"I shouldn't advise you to try it," said Dick coolly. "It might not be
healthy--for you."

"Do you mean that you'd attack me?" asked Dutton, taking a step toward
Dick.

"No, but Grit might; eh, Grit, old boy."

The dog growled in a menacing manner, and Dutton, turning on his heel,
made off up the campus, but the scowl he gave Dick augured anything but
well for the young millionaire.

It was about a week after this when, one evening, Dick, who was sitting
in his room, studying with Paul, suddenly exclaimed:

"There, I've left my algebra out under the three elms. I was studying
there this afternoon."

The three elms were a clump of giant trees on the campus, and a
recognized stamping ground for the freshmen, who frequently studied
there, when it was too hot in their rooms.

"Better go out and get it," advised Paul. "It looks like rain, and you
know it means a demerit to have soiled books."

"Guess I'll slip out and get it," decided Dick. "I'll have just about
time enough before taps."

He started down the long corridor, but he had not taken a dozen steps
before taps was sounded on the bugle, the plaintive call of "lights out"
vibrating clearly on the night air.

"Better come back," advised Paul, from the open door of their room, as
he prepared to turn out the electric lamp.

"No, I think I'll chance it," decided Dick. "No one is likely to see me,
and I might as well get a demerit for this as for having a rain-soaked
algebra. Leave the door open so I can find the place in the dark."

He kept on, stealing quietly down the hall. Paul went to bed, and was
just dozing off when he was startled by the loud report of the cannon
used for firing the sunrise and sunset guns. The echoes thundered among
the academy buildings, and were re-echoed from the distant hills. Paul
arose. Clearly some of the cadets were up to a trick, and had fired the
gun.

A few minutes later Dick came running into the room.

"Did you get the book? Who fired the gun?" asked Paul in a whisper.

"Yes, I got the algebra, and, just as I did the gun went off. I saw some
of the fellows running, and of course I was running too, but, just as I
was coming in, Stiver, who is doing guard duty, saw me."

"What did he say?"

"Called to me halt, but I didn't."

"He'll report you, and you may be blamed for--"

An instant later the tramp of feet was heard in the corridor.

"It's inspection!" gasped Paul. "Undress quick, and get into bed!"




CHAPTER X

DICK HAS A FIGHT


But it was too late. The door of Dick's room was pushed open, and, in
the light of the incandescent that burned in the hall, the two cadets
could see Captain Hayden and several of the instructors looking in.

"Hamilton--Drew--are you here?" asked Captain Hayden sharply.

"Yes, sir," replied Dick, but an instant later the light revealed him
fully dressed, whereas he should have been in bed at taps.

"Ha!" exclaimed the head master. "This will bear investigation. Why
aren't you in bed, Hamilton?"

"I went down to get my algebra, which I left under the elms."

"Did you have anything to do with firing the saluting gun?"

"No, sir."

"I will have to investigate. Report in my room in ten minutes."

Captain Hayden marched on, and the two cadets could hear distant sounds
that indicated a general inspection of quarters.

"I guess you're in for it, Dick," said Paul.

"I can prove what I went out for."

"Maybe. But I wonder who fired that gun?"

"I don't know. Some of the older cadets likely. Well, I s'pose I've got
to go to Captain Hayden's room."

Dick found several other students gathered in the reception apartment of
the head master. They were lads who had been found still up when their
rooms were hurriedly entered after the blowing of taps, and the firing
of the gun.

"Who was captain of the guard?" asked Captain Hayden, when he came in
and faced a rather frightened lot of cadets.

"I was, sir," replied John Stiver.

"What did you see?"

"I was on duty, sir, near the main entrance of the south barracks, and
the first I knew I saw the flash of the gun, and heard it go off."

"What else did you see?"

"I saw a cadet run from the campus into the barracks. He would not halt
when I called to him."

"Who was it?"

"I don't like to say, sir."

"Very likely not, but you must."

"It was--it was Hamilton, sir."

"Ha!" exclaimed the head master.

"I went to the three elms to get my algebra which I had forgotten," said
Dick.

"After taps?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you broke one of the rules."

"Yes, sir, but I thought that if it rained, and my book got wet, I'd get
a demerit for that, so I decided I would take a chance on going after
taps. I started before the bugle sounded."

"Ha! I will look into that afterward. You are sure you were not near the
gun?"

"Yes, sir."

"I might add," went on Stiver, "that, after I called to Hamilton to
halt, and he would not, I saw his dog running after him, and the animal
seemed to have something tied to its tail."

"To it's tail?"

"Yes, sir."

"What was it?"

"It seemed like a piece of string."

"A piece of string. That may explain it. Hamilton, what do you know of
this?"

"Nothing, Captain Hayden. Grit was not with me. I left him in his
kennel, in the stable, chained up."

"We must look into this. Lieutenant Stiver, tell Sander to bring the
bulldog here."

"Perhaps I had better go along," suggested Dick. "Grit might make a
fuss."

"If he goes, you had better make sure he doesn't slip the string off the
dog's tail," put in Dutton, with a sneer.

Dick started, and looked angrily at his enemy.

"That will do, Dutton," said Captain Hayden quietly. "You may accompany
Sander, Hamilton."

Toots, who was on hand, started for the stables, followed by Dick.

"Are you going to get into trouble?" asked the old man, who had taken
quite a fancy to our hero.

"I hope not. If Grit had anything to do with firing the gun, by means of
a string tied to his tail, some one who had a grudge against me is
responsible for it."

"I'm sure of it, Mr. Hamilton," and Toots marched on, whistling "Dixy
Land," ending up with a series of bugle calls.

They found Grit cowering in his kennel, as if much frightened. Dick and
Toots looked him over. Sure enough there was a stout piece of cord tied
to his stump of a tail.

"It looks bad," commented Toots.

"I'm not worried," declared Dick.

Captain Hayden looked grave, when Toots handed him the bit of cord. He
sent Sander to the saluting gun, and Toots returned presently with same
cord, which matched that taken from Grit's tail.

"Was this on the gun?" asked the head master.

"Attached to a primer, that had been fired," replied Toots.

"Hamilton," began Captain Hayden, "I don't like to accuse you on such
circumstantial evidence, but it looks--"

"I had nothing to do with firing the gun," said Dick quickly. "If my dog
did it, some one else tied the string to his tail."

"Whom do you suspect?"

"I don't know."

"If you please, sir," spoke up Graham, "I don't think Hamilton had
anything to do with firing the gun."

"Why not?"

"Because my window is right opposite it. I was looking out, just before
it went off, and I saw a crowd of students near it. They had a dog, for
I could hear him growl, and I heard some one say 'look out or the brute
will put his teeth in you.' Then some one else said, 'I guess I can
manage him.' If Hamilton had been there I don't believe Grit would have
growled."

"He certainly would not," said Dick, noticing that Dutton was scowling
at Graham.

"Ha! Hum," mused the head master. "I believe you are right, Graham.
Hamilton, you are practically exonerated, but this matter will not be
allowed to drop. Firing the gun was a serious infraction of the rules,
and dangerous in the bargain. Whoever fired it must have stolen into the
ammunition house, which is a risky thing to do, especially in the dark."

"I am glad you don't think I did it, sir," said Dick to Captain Hayden.

"I am glad, also, but I shall have to mark you five off for being out
after taps. When I find out who fired the gun I shall punish them
severely. It seems as though it was done to throw suspicion on you."

"That is what I think," said Dick quickly.

"Whom do you suspect?"

"I had rather not say, sir."

"Of course not, no, I wouldn't want you to on mere suspicion. You young
gentlemen may retire to your rooms, now. I will look into this matter
further."

The cadets filed out, all of them breathing easier. As Dutton passed
Dick in the hall, he said:

"Did you refer to me when you said you suspected some one?"

"Not particularly."

"You looked at me," said the cadet captain angrily.

"Well, a cat may look at a king, I suppose."

"None of your impertinence."

"I'm not impertinent, but I don't propose to have you dictate to me."

"You'll have to, as long as you're a freshman. I say you intimated that
I fired that gun and tried to throw the blame on you."

"I can't help what you say."

"Do you believe I did it?"

"I refuse to answer."

"Then I'll make you! Take that!" and before Dick could step back Dutton
had hit him a blow in the face. "You know what that means, I suppose,"
said Dutton with a sneer.

"A fight?" asked Dick quietly.

"Of course. I'll send a friend to you to-morrow and we'll see if you'll
back up your words."

"Don't worry. I'll be on hand," replied Dick, as he went to his room.

He told Paul of what had happened, and the latter consented to act as
second to him in the fight. The matter was quietly arranged, and, the
next afternoon Dick, and the few chums he had, slipped off after the
evening parade to a secluded spot, where all the fistic battles of the
academy took place. Dutton and a large throng of his supporters were on
hand, and the preliminaries were soon settled.

"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.




CHAPTER XI

DICK GIVES A SPREAD


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.

"I hope so, but I doubt it."

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.




CHAPTER XII

AN ANGRY FARMER


"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.




CHAPTER XIII

A NARROW ESCAPE


"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.




CHAPTER XIV

CAPTAIN HANDLEE'S VISIT


"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.




CHAPTER XV

ON THE GRIDIRON


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.




CHAPTER XVI

FOR THE PRIZE TROOP


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.




CHAPTER XVII

DICK IN TROUBLE


"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.

Dick flushed.

"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."

"I guess I can let you have it," said Dick good naturedly. "Come to my
room, and I'll get it."

It was after ten o'clock, but as Dick had received permission to attend
the spread, he had a permit to be out after taps. Paul, who had not been
invited, was asleep when Dick and Glen entered.

"I say, Hamilton, you keep your room looking nice," said the "sport" as
he looked around the neat apartment. "I'm always getting a mark at
police inspection, for having something out of kilter. You and Drew are
as neat as girls."

"Hush! Not so loud," cautioned Dick. "You'll wake, Paul."

"Aw, what's the odds. He'll go to sleep again. It's early yet. Be a
sport!"

Glen was noisy from the beer which he had taken.

"Here is the money," said Dick, handing over some bills.

"Thanks, old chap. I'll see that you get it back all right."

"There's no hurry."

"All right; if I win, though, I'll pay you to-morrow. Do you think we'll
lick Mooretown?"

"I hope so. But you'd better go to bed now."

"Me? Go to bed? Wha' for?"

"Well, it's getting late, and some one might come along. You'd better
go."

"That's a' right. I'm goin'. You're a' right, Ham'ton. You're a' right.
You're sport!"

And, rather unsteady on his legs, poor, foolish Glen went away, much to
Dick's relief.

"I don't much care for friends, such as he is," thought Dick, as he got
into bed.

In his generousness it never occurred to him that Glen had cultivated
his acquaintance merely that he might borrow money from him.

Dick was awakened by the clear, sweet notes of the bugle sounding
reveille. He and Paul jumped out of bed, and were soon in their
uniforms. Then they got their room in order for police inspection,
which, on some days, was made while they were at breakfast. This was one
of those occasions.

"There, I guess they can't find any fault with that," observed Dick, as
he and his roommate, putting the finishing touches to their apartment,
descended to form in line to march to the mess hall.

Dick was leaving the table, to attend chapel, when Cadet Captain Naylor,
who was in charge of the police inspection, tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hamilton, report to Major Rockford," he said curtly.

"To Major Rockford? What for?"

"Room out of order."

"Room out of order?"

Dick knew that he and Paul had left their apartment in perfect trim.

But Captain Naylor did not answer, and Dick, with a heavy heart, started
for the commandant's office. It was the first time he had been made to
report for a breach of discipline of this sort.




CHAPTER XVIII

A DISMAL CHRISTMAS


"You are reported as not having your room in order, Hamilton," began
Major Rockford, as Dick entered.

"I don't see how that can be, sir," replied Dick, saluting. "When Paul
Drew and I left it for breakfast it was in order."

"Drew's side is yet, but your bureau is stated by Captain Naylor to be
in great disorder."

"I--I left it in order, sir."

"Very well, we will go and take a look at it."

Accompanied by the commandant, Dick went to his apartment. To his
surprise his neat bureau was in great disorder, the objects on it being
scattered all about.

"Well?" asked Major Rockford.

"Some one--some one must have been in here, sir," said Dick.

"Ha! Do you wish to accuse any one?"

Dick went closer to his bureau. Something on it caught his eye. It was a
note written in pencil. It read:

        "DEAR HAMILTON: I am awfully sick this morning. I lost that
    twenty-five you loaned me. Can you let me have some more? I
    called but you were out, so I wrote this note here. Please let
    me have the money.
            "RUSSELL GLEN."

Then Dick understood. Glen, suffering from the effects of his
dissipation the night before, had called at the room after our hero and
Paul had left to go to breakfast. In writing the note Glen had, probably
unthinkingly, disarranged the things on Dick's bureau, where he wrote
and left the missive. Then he had gone away, and, Captain Naylor, on
police inspection, had seen the disorder, and reported Dick.

"Do you wish to accuse any one?" went on Major Rockford.

Dick thought rapidly. To tell the true circumstances, and show Glen's
note, would mean that the facts of the spread would come out. Glen and
his chums would be punished, and Dick might be censured. It would be
better to accept the blame for having his room in disorder, rather than
incur the displeasure of his comrades by being the means of informing on
Glen.

So Dick answered:

"I--I guess I was mistaken, sir. I am sorry my room was out of order."

"So am I, Hamilton, for you have a good record. Still there have been
several violations of late, among the cadets, and I must make an
example. But, in view of your good conduct, and record I will not give
you any demerits."

"Thank you, sir."

"Still, I must inflict some punishment You will not be allowed to attend
the football game this afternoon, but must remain in your room."

That was punishment indeed, for Dick felt that he would have a chance to
play. Still, like a good soldier, he did not murmur. He concealed Glen's
note in his hand, saluted the major and then, as chapel was over, he
marched to his classroom, with a heavy heart.

"I wonder if that was part of a plot to get me into trouble," thought
Dick, as he recalled what he had overheard Dutton say. "They're trying
to force me to leave the academy. But I'll not go! I'll fight it out!"

He felt very lonesome as he had to retire to his room that afternoon,
and heard the merry shouts of the football eleven, the substitutes, and
the other cadets leaving for the final battle on the gridiron with
Mooretown.

"How I wish I could go!" thought Dick. "I'm punished for something I
didn't do. It isn't right. Still, perhaps Glen was so sick he didn't
know what he was doing."

He had already sent Glen some more money, for he did not want to refuse
one of the few favors that had been asked of him since coming to the
academy.

As he was moping in his room, Toots came along, whistling "Three Cheers
for the Red, White and Blue," and giving a succession of bugle calls.

"What? Not at the game, Mister Hamilton?" asked the jolly janitor.

"No; I'm a prisoner."

"That's nothing. Many a time I got out of the guard house. There's no
one around now, and I won't look, nor squeal. You can easily slip out,
and go to the game."

"No," said Dick, though the temptation was strong. "By the way, Toots,
did you ever call to mind about this picture?" and he showed him the one
of missing Bill Handlee, which was still on the mantle.

"No," replied Toots, again striving hard to remember about it. "It's
clean gone from me, Mr. Hamilton. But, are you sure you don't want to
escape? I can find some work to do at the other side of the barracks, if
you want to go."

"No. I'll stay."

And stay Dick did, all that long afternoon. It was dusk when the players
and the other cadets came back, and there was an ominous silence about
their return.

"It doesn't sound as if they'd won," thought Dick. "If they did they're
celebrating very quietly."

Paul Drew came in a little later.

"How about the game?" asked Dick eagerly.

"We lost," said Paul. "We might have won, only Henderson, who had a
chance to score a winning touchdown, couldn't run fast enough with the
ball, and he was downed on the five-yard line, too late for another try
to cross the Mooretown goal. I wish you had played. You'd have won the
game for us."

"Oh, I guess not."

"Yes, you would. Captain Rutledge admitted as much."

"Well, maybe I'll get a chance next time."

"There won't be any next time this year. The game is over for the
season, and Mooretown did us two contests out of three. It's too bad.
The fellows are all cut up over it. Say, have you any idea who mussed up
your bureau? Was it Dutton?"

"No, it wasn't Dutton," said Dick quietly, and that was all he could be
induced to say about it.

Discipline, which had been somewhat relaxed during the football season,
was now in force again, and the cadets found they were kept very busy
with their studies and drills. Dick was standing well in his classes,
but he made no more progress in gaining the friendship of the students,
other than a few freshmen.

Even Glen showed no disposition to make much of Dick. He did not repay
the money borrowed, on the plea that he was in debt quite heavily, and
had lost much on the football game. Still he had the cheek to ask Dick
for more, and when the young millionaire properly refused Glen called
him a "tight-wad," and sneered at him, making no pretense of retaining
his friendship.

One night, following several spreads, to none of which was Dick invited,
he wrote a rather discouraged letter to his father, hinting that he
wished he could attend some other school.

In due time there came an answer, part of which was as follows:

    "You know the terms were that you were to remain at least a full
    term. Still, if you do not wish to, you have the choice of going
    to your Uncle Ezra. He will send you to a boarding school of his
    own selection. Let me know what you will do. I will not be able
    to get home by Christmas, as I expected, and you had better
    remain at the academy over the holidays. I know it will be
    lonesome for you, but it can't be helped."

"Go to a boarding school selected by Uncle Ezra," murmured Dick. "Never!
I'll stay here a full term, even if no one but the teachers speak to me.
I never could stand Uncle Ezra and Dankville. This is bad enough, but
there are some bright spots in it. The sun never shines where Uncle Ezra
is."

Yet the time was coming when Uncle Ezra was to do Dick a great favor,
though he himself was not aware of it.

So Dick sent word to his father that he would remain at Kentfield. Fall
merged into winter, and overcoats were the order of the day at all
out-door exercises. Much of the drilling and parading was omitted, and
more study and recitation was indulged in. What maneuvers on horseback
and afoot were held, took place mainly in the big riding hall or drill
room, and they were not as attractive as when held out of doors.

"Well, are you going home for Christmas?" asked Paul, about a week
before the holiday vacation.

"Guess not," replied Dick, somewhat gloomily. "Our house is shut up, and
I don't care about spending Christmas at a hotel in Hamilton Corners."

"Come home with me."

"No, thank you. I was thinking of visiting some of my chums at home. I
believe I'll do that. I'll be glad to see them again."

Dick knew he would be welcomed at the homes of any of his friends, and
he planned to go to Hamilton Corners and surprise them.

But alas for his hopes! When the last day of school came, and the other
cadets made hurried preparations to leave for home, poor Dick was taken
with a heavy cold. The surgeon forbade him leaving his room, as the
weather was cold and stormy, and our hero was forced to remain at
Kentfield, in charge of the housekeeper and the doctor, while the other
cadets joyfully departed to happy firesides.

"Sorry to leave you, old chap," said Paul, sympathetically, "but my
folks wouldn't know what to do if I didn't come home over the holidays."

"That's all right," said Dick, hoarsely, but as cheerfully as he could.
"I'll see you after New Year's. Have a good time."

"I will. Hope you get better."

It was a gloomy Christmas for the young millionaire, and, as a fever set
in with his cold, he couldn't even enjoy the good things which the kind
housekeeper, under orders from Colonel Masterly, provided for the
patient.

The academy was a very lonely place indeed, Christmas day, for all the
officers and cadets had gone, leaving only the housekeeper, and some of
the janitors, including Toots, in charge.

Dick received some tokens from abroad, sent by his father, and a cheery
letter, which he answered in the same strain.

"But it isn't much like Christmas," thought Dick, as he sat up in bed.
Then a bright thought came to him.

"Can't Toots have dinner up here with me?" he asked Mrs. Fitzpatrick.

"Of course he can," she said. "Maybe it will cheer you up," and she sent
for the jolly janitor.




CHAPTER XIX

THE MARKSMAN MEDAL


Toots' advance along the corridor leading to Dick's room was announced
by his rendering of the tune "The Star Spangled Banner," which he ended
with a spirited bugle call.

"Did you send for me, Mr. Hamilton?" he asked as he came in.

"I did, Toots," said Dick. "I thought maybe you would like to have
dinner with me here. I'm lonesome, and I suppose you are, too."

"Bless your heart, not exactly lonesome, Mr. Hamilton, but I'm glad to
come just the same. You see I'm too busy to be lonesome. I've got lots
to do, cleaning up all the rooms against the cadets coming back in a
couple of weeks."

"Then maybe you haven't time to spend an hour or so here."

"Oh, I reckon I have. But it's agin the regulations for me to eat here.
I'm supposed to eat with the other servants."

"We'll make our own regulations for the time being," said Dick. "Here
comes Mrs. Fitzpatrick with the grub. I hope you're hungry, for I'm not
particularly."

"Well, I can eat a bit," admitted Toots. "I say, though, that is a
spread!" he exclaimed, as he saw the good things the housekeeper was
bringing into Dick's room, where she set them on a table.

"Well, it's Christmas," observed Dick, "though I can't eat much myself.
However, it'll do me good to see you put it away."

"And I can do that same," admitted Toots cheerfully.

Dick, under the doctor's orders was allowed only a bit of the white meat
of the turkey, and none of the "stuffing," so he could not make a very
substantial meal, but Toots ate enough for three.

"I don't suppose you got this sort of thing in the army," ventured Dick,
wishing to have his odd friend talk somewhat of his experiences, for he
had learned that Toots had once been janitor at a military post.

"No, indeed," replied Toots. "We did get a little extra at holiday
times, but nothing like this."

"How did you come to be at the military post?" asked Dick.

"Blessed if I know. I was always a sort of a rover, and I suppose I
wandered out west. I'm going to join the army some time. I'm a good
shot, you know. Did you ever see me shoot?"

"Yes," replied Dick, trying not to smile, as he thought of how far
Toots had come from hitting the target.

"Yes, I'm a good shot," went on the janitor. "But I'm going to improve.
I'll practice on the range this winter at odd times. You're a pretty
good shot yourself, ain't you?"

"Fair," admitted Dick, as he watched Toots put away the roast turkey and
the "fixings."

"A-ker-choo!" suddenly sneezed Toots, pulling out his handkerchief.
"Aker-choo-choo! Guess I put too much pepper on my potatoes," he said.

Something fell to the floor, as Toots pulled out his handkerchief. It
lay in sight of Dick, who was propped up in bed.

"What's that?" he asked. "You dropped something."

The man picked it up, and Dick saw that it was a marksman's bronze
medal.

"Let me see that," he said, quickly, and the janitor passed it over.

"Why this was given to some soldier, for good shooting," went on our
hero, as he tried to decipher the name on it. "Where did you get it,
Toots?"

"Blessed if I know, Mr. Hamilton. I've had it a long time. It was given
to me by some friend, I expect. I found it the other day in my trunk.
I'd forgotten I had it. But if it's a marksman's badge, I'm going to
wear it. I'm a good shot."

Dick looked more closely at it. Besides the name of some soldier the
badge contained the name of the command to which he had belonged, but
everything save the letters "mie, Wyo." were obliterated by dents and
scratches.

A sudden thought came to Dick. It was in connection with Toot's
half-recognition of the picture of missing Bill Handlee. It was evident
that Toots knew something of the captain's son, but he could not
straighten out the kink in his memory, and possibly this marksman's
badge might be a clue. Dick hoped so, and he decided to try to learn
from what fort or command the medal had been given.

"I wish you'd let me take this for a few days, Toots," he said. "I'll
take good care of it."

"All right, Mr. Hamilton, but don't lose it. If it's what you say it is,
I'm going to wear it, to show I'm a good shot. Then I won't have to be
telling people all the while. They can see it for themselves."

"Can't you recollect where you got it?" asked Dick again.

Toots shook his head.

"It's like--like the time you asked me about his picture," he said,
pointing to the photo on the mantle. "I get all sort of confused in my
head. Maybe I always had it. Maybe someone gave it to me when I was
janitor at the fort out west."

"What fort was that?"

"I've forgotten. It's a good while ago. But don't lose that medal, Mr.
Hamilton. I'm going to wear it."

"Poor Toots," thought Dick. "All the medals in the world will never make
you a good shot."

He put the badge carefully away, resolving to ask Major Webster, at the
first opportunity, from what military post it was likely to have come.

Thanks to the jolly companionship of Toots, Christmas was not as gloomy
as Dick had feared it would be. The dinner over the janitor left Dick to
himself, and our hero fell into a refreshing sleep. When he awoke he
felt much better, and the doctor said he could be out in a couple of
days, if the weather moderated.

The first of the year dawned; a fine bracing day, and, as there was no
biting wind, Dick was allowed to stroll about the campus a short time.
This brought the color to his cheeks, and completed the cure begun by
the surgeon's medicine.

"Well, things will be lively a week from to-night," said Toots one day,
as he came in to make up Dick's room.

"Why?"

"The boys will be back then. Vacation will be over."

"I'm glad of it," commented Dick, and then, with pain in his heart, he
wondered if the coming term would bring him more fellowship than had the
preceding one.

Major Webster was among the first of the instructors to arrive, in
anticipation of the return of the students, and to him Dick showed the
medal.

"Why, yes; that's one given out years ago, at Fort Laramie, Wyoming," he
said. "I can send it to a friend of mine for you, if you like. Possibly
they may be able to trace the illegible name from the fort records."

"I wish you would," said Dick. "Maybe I can get a trace of Captain
Handlee's son for him."

"I doubt it," replied the major, shaking his head. "I tried all the
sources of information I knew, and it was useless. Still you may have
better luck."

The medal was sent off, but, fearing nothing would come of it, Dick did
not say anything to Captain Handlee about it, though he wrote to the
veteran in answer to a letter the old soldier sent him.

The holiday vacation came to a close, and, one morning Dick awoke to a
realization that, on that day, the cadets would come pouring back.

It was nearly noon when the first of them arrived. Among them was Paul
Drew.

"Well, how are you, old chap?" he cried, rushing into Dick's room.

"Pretty good. How about you?"

"Oh, I had a dandy time, home. I almost hated to come back, but I wanted
to see you, and then I know we'll have some sport this winter. Say,
there are a lot of new fellows. We're not so fresh as we were. There
are others. There's going to be hazing to-night, I understand. Thank
fortune they won't bother me. I don't fancy cold water down my back on a
winter night."

"Hazing, eh?" remarked Dick. And he wondered if his turn would come.




CHAPTER XX

DICK DOESN'T TELL


All the rest of that day cadets continued to arrive at Kentfield
Academy, and there were lively scenes on the snow-covered campus, in the
assembly auditoriums, students' rooms, and in the mess hall.

Several new cadets stood about, looking rather miserable, Dick thought,
and he spoke to some of them, telling them where to report, and what to
do, for he appreciated what it meant to be a stranger among a lot of
lads who ignored new-comers, not because they were heartless so much as
that they were thoughtless.

Dick rather hoped Dutton would not return, but that cadet was among the
first he encountered as he strolled over the white campus.

Dutton nodded coolly, and Dick as coolly acknowledged the bow. Then
Dutton saw a freshman standing near the saluting cannon. It was one of
the unwritten rules of the school that none below the grade of
sophomores might stand near the cannon.

"Here, fresh!" cried Dutton roughly, "stand away from that gun!"

The lad, a small chap, did not seem to comprehend.

Dick put in a word.

"You can't stand near there until you're a second year," he told the
lad. "It's a school rule, that's all."

"I say, Hamilton, I guess I can manage my own affairs," said Dutton,
angrily. "You mind your own business; will you?"

"I guess I've got as much right to speak as you have," said Dick hotly.
"I was only telling him what to do."

The freshman looked from one to the other. Quite a group had gathered by
this time, attracted by Dutton's loud voice. The new lad moved a short
distance away from the gun.

"Don't you know enough to mind when you're spoken to?" demanded Dutton,
advancing toward him. "I'll teach you manners, you young cub! Why don't
you salute when an officer speaks to you? Now get back," and, with that
he gave the lad such a shove that he went over backward into a snow
bank, made by shoveling the white crystals away from the gun.

"That's not right, Dutton!" exclaimed Dick.

"You mind your own affairs, or I'll do the same to you, Hamilton,"
retorted the bully.

"You'd better try it," said Dick quietly. "If you want to fight with me,
you know what to do. Just lay a finger on me."

He took a step toward his enemy, and stood waiting for him. But Dutton
knew better than to attack Dick. He had felt the weight of his fists
once, and he knew he had no chance in a fair fight.

So he strode away, muttering to the lad whom he had knocked down:

"You keep away from this gun, after this, fresh."

Dick did not think it wise to say anything further on the side of the
mistreated one. Already he saw some unpleasant looks directed toward him
by Dutton's friends, and he realized that by interfering in what was
considered one of the rights of upper classmen, to assume a bullying
attitude toward those in the lower grades, he was not adding to his
popularity. I am glad to say that such characters as Dutton were in the
small majority at Kentfield, and that though some of his cronies
applauded his action in knocking the newcomer down, most of the lads
were not in sympathy with the bully.

But there were so many things occurring, so many cadets arriving, some
of whom wanted to change their apartments, to get new roommates, or be
quartered in other sections of the barracks, that all was in seeming
confusion.

Colonel Masterly and his aides, however, had matters well in hand, and
by night, when the cadets lined up for the march to mess, affairs were
in some sort of order.

"Do you want to make a shift, Paul?" asked Dick, as they went to their
room early that evening.

"A shift? What do you mean?"

"Why some of your friends have changed over to the east barrack, I hear.
I thought maybe you'd want to go too?"

"Do you want me to go?"

"Indeed I don't!" and Dick spoke very earnestly.

"All right. When I want to leave you I'll let you know," and Paul
slapped Dick on the back in a fashion that told what his feelings were
in the matter.

A little later mysterious steps in the corridor, and subdued knockings
on nearby doors told Paul and Dick that something unusual was going on.

"Hazing," said Paul. "We're immune. Let's take it in."

"I don't like to haze fellows," said Dick. "It's all right when they're
your size, but all the chaps who came in lately are smaller than I am."

"That won't make any difference to Dutton and his crowd. They'll haze
'em anyhow, and we might as well see the fun. A fellow who can't stand a
little hazing is no good."

"That's so. Guess I'll go. I don't mind it if it isn't too rough. I
wouldn't mind being hazed myself. It would give me a chance to make a
rough house for Dutton and his cronies."

"Come on then. Let's go to the gym. I heard that they're going to haze
a bunch of 'em there."

"What about Major Rockford?"

"Well, I guess he and the colonel know about it, but they won't
interfere unless it gets too strenuous."

Dick and Paul found a large crowd of the older cadets already gathered
in the gymnasium. In one corner was huddled a rather frightened group of
freshmen, who were waiting their turn to be grilled. They had been
rounded up from their rooms by a committee appointed for that purpose.

"Now, fellows," said Dutton, who, as usual, assumed the leadership,
"we'll work 'em off in bunches. Put two or three of 'em in a blanket and
toss 'em up for a starter."

"Some of 'em may get hurt," objected Stiver. "We'd better take 'em one
at a time."

"Aw, you're afraid! Besides, we haven't time. Here, Beeby, grab a couple
of 'em and pass 'em over."

Captain Beeby of Company B grasped a cadet in either hand, and shoved
them toward Dutton The latter already had one, and the three lads were
pushed down into a large blanket which had been spread for that purpose.

"Grab the corners and up with 'em!" called Dutton. "Toss 'em as high as
you can."

"Suppose they fall out?" objected Lieutenant Jim Watkins.

"It won't matter. There's a gym. mat under 'em."

Up into the air went the unfortunate lads, clinging together in a sort
of bunch, and struggling to see which one was to be underneath in the
fall. Down they came into the blanket, but the impact was so heavy that
it was torn from the grasp of the cadets holding it, and the freshmen
landed on the mat with a thump and many squeals.

"That's the way!" cried Dutton with a laugh. "Now, once more."

"Let's take some others," proposed Beeby.

"No, they haven't had enough."

So, in spite of their struggles and protests, the lads were tossed
again. Then three more took their places. They, too, had a hard time,
one falling over the edge of the blanket and partly off the mat. But he
was game and never made a sound.

"Now for the slide of death!" cried Dutton.

"What's that?" asked several of his cronies.

"I'll show you," he said.

From the top of the gymnasium there hung a long rope, running over a
pulley. Dutton made a loop in one end, and then took hold of the other.

"Tie a couple of 'em up in blankets," he ordered, and two of the
struggling cadets were made up into a rough bundle. Dutton then passed
several coils of the long rope about them.

"Pull 'em up!" he ordered next, and willing hands aided him in hoisting
the lads toward the roof of the gymnasium.

"You are now about to take the slide of death!" called Dutton, when the
freshmen were close against the pulley, and fully forty feet above the
floor. "We're going to let you come down on the run----"

A scream from one of the lads in the blanket high up in the air
interrupted him.

"You'll frighten him!" called Dick.

"What's that to you? Mind your own affairs, and we'll run this," said
Dutton. "Or maybe you'll get your hazing, which we omitted last time."

"Go ahead," said Dick. "But that's too risky."

"Aw, cut it out, Hamilton," said Stiver. "We ain't going to hurt 'em."

But this assurance could not be heard by the lads in the blanket, who
could not see.

"Let her slide!" cried Dutton, and he and his chums released their grasp
on the rope, which was wound about a post.

Down, on the run, came the unfortunate cadets, and from the cries they
uttered they must have imagined that they were about to be dashed to the
floor. Then Dick saw that several mats were right under them, in case of
accident.

But it was not the intention of Dutton to run any risks. At first the
rope was paid out swiftly, and then it was gradually tightened against
the post, until the speed of the falling cadets was slackened, and they
came to a stop a few inches above the mats.

"The next batch won't get off so lucky!" announced Dutton, as he
commanded that some more be wrapped up in the blanket. "We'll bump
them."

This news was sufficient to cause a panic among the candidates still
remaining, but their protests were of no avail, and they came down with
considerable force on the mats, but no one was hurt.

Then the water cure was administered to a number, the streams being
poured down their trouser legs, amid the laughter of the unfortunate
ones who were exempt. As the gymnasium was kept quite warm this ordeal
was not so bad as might be supposed. Still, it was not pleasant, but it
was part of the game.

A particularly tall freshman was stretched out, or, rather suspended on
the flying rings, until he looked like some soaring eagle. He struggled,
but to no effect, and had to take his medicine. Others were blindfolded,
and made to fight with blown-up bladders, some were tied in pairs on
trapezes, and a number were made to do ridiculous stunts, to the more or
less enjoyment of the older cadets.

"Well, I guess that's all," announced Dutton, a little before it was
time for taps to sound. "Unless we take Hamilton."

"I'm willing," said Dick, with a grim smile.

"He's too willing. He'd knock a lot of us around," whispered Stiver to
Dutton.

"We'll postpone your initiation," remarked the Captain of Company A.
"Come on, fellows, there goes tattoo. Half an hour to lights out."

Matters more quickly adjusted themselves following the opening of the
winter term, than they did at the beginning of the fall one, as there
were fewer new cadets. Lessons were quickly under way, together with a
few drills, out of doors when the weather permitted it, otherwise in the
big hall.

The lake froze over, and Dick and the other lads had their fill of
skating, races being held every afternoon. In a number of these,
particularly the long distance ones, Dick came in a winner.

Then there were snowball fights between the different companies, both on
foot and mounted on horses, with wooden shields. These were lively
affairs, and were enjoyed by all.

Dick took his part in the winter sports, but, though he had increased
his friends by the addition of several freshmen, particularly Payson
Emery, the lad whose knocking down by Dutton he had resented, he made no
progress toward getting intimate with the upperclassmen.

"But I've got half a term yet," thought Dick.

With the advent of winter, affairs in the town of Kentfield, which was
about two miles from where the academy was located, became more lively.
There were theatrical and other entertainments, and the cadets, when
they could not get permission to attend these, used to run the guard.

Usually there was little risk in this, as the cadet officers would not
report their friends, unless some member of the academy faculty happened
to hear a late-staying party come sneaking in, and then the young
officer on guard knew he had to make some sort of a report or be
punished himself.

One night there was a large and rather fashionable dance given in town,
by some friends of Dutton's family. He was invited, together with some
of his cronies, but he was refused permission to go, as he had broken
several rules of late.

"Well, I'm going anyhow," he announced to Stiver. "I guess I can run the
guard all right, and get back. There are some girls I want to meet."

So Dutton and Stiver, and one or two others, went.

Dick was on guard, as it happened, at the barracks where Dutton and the
others had their rooms. He was patrolling his post long after midnight,
expecting soon to be relieved, when he saw some shadowy forms stealing
along the hedge.

"Halt!" he cried, bringing his rifle up.

"Gee! It's Hamilton!" he heard some one say, and he recognized Stiver's
voice.

"Then I guess it's all up with us," announced Dutton, straightening up,
and, with his chums, approaching Dick.

The young millionaire said nothing.

"Are you going to let us in? We haven't the countersign," said Dutton,
with an uneasy laugh.

"You can go in," replied Dick, producing the key to the front door.

"And I suppose you'll squeal in the morning," went on Dutton, as he and
his cronies entered.

Dick didn't answer.

"You should have known better than to risk going, Dutton," said Stiver.
"Of course he'll tell. He owes you too much not to."

But Dick didn't tell, and Dutton's breach of discipline was not
discovered.




CHAPTER XXI

THE FANCY DRESS BALL


"Well, Dick," remarked Paul Drew, one afternoon, as he and his roommate
came in from drill, "I see you're on the ball committee."

"What ball, and what committee?"

"The fancy dress ball, if I have to go into all the details. You know
the academy has one every year, and it's a swell affair, let me tell
you. Lights, gay music, pretty girls----"

"Especially pretty girls," said Dick with a smile. "But what committee
am I on?"

"Arrangements. Didn't you see the list posted in the mess hall? I don't
envy you. There will be lots to do."

"Suppose you take pity on my ignor

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