rs--and then the beastly academic grind."

Now, to keep his mind occupied, Dick Prescott fell to observing,
covertly, the other candidates.

These were of all sorts and sizes. They represented all parts of the
United States and every walk in social life. Out of the group were
two or three who, judging by their clothing, might have been sons
of washerwomen. There were other youngsters whose general
appearance and bearing seemed to proclaim that they came from
homes of wealth. But the majority of the young men appeared to
have come from the same walk in life as did Dick and Greg.

Our two young friends were by no means the most smartly nor the
most correctly attired young men there. On their way to New York
Prescott and Holmes had discovered, by taking mental notes of the
other male passengers on the train, that these two Gridley boys had
missed something from the most correct styles then prevailing in
the larger cities.

Dick and Greg were both solidly and substantially attired, yet there
was an indefinable something about them which proclaimed them
to be young men from one of the smaller cities of the United
States.

"I can see those medical big-wigs pawing me over now," shivered
Greg. "I suppose, at a place as wonderful and as learned as West
Point, the doctors are all fussy old men, with their gold-rimmed
spectacles and shiny frock coats."

"Wait and see," advised Dick, trying to get a grip on himself to
control his nervousness.

Another door opened, to admit a dandified and very smart-looking
young officer, apparently about twenty-five years of age.

"You're all ready, young gentlemen?" he asked smilingly.

"We're waiting for the doctor," replied Greg, who was close to the
door by which the officer had entered.

"I am one of the surgeons," replied the young officer pleasantly.

"Gee whiz!" remarked one raw-boned youth, in what was meant to
be a confidential whisper, but which rose to a pitch that carried it
around the room. "Say, he doesn't look much like our old
saw-bones doc down home way!"

The surgeon was followed by a smart-looking soldier of the
hospital corps, who started to close the shades of the room.

"You have all been to the treasurer's office and deposited your
funds?" asked the young surgeon, turning again. This time his
question appeared to be addressed to Dick more particularly than
to anyone else.

"Why, no, sir," Prescott replied. "I have all my money in my pocket
yet."

"Orde