ndkerchief out again until the unlucky time just after
you had turned away from the board after explaining in math.?"

Dick remained silent, while the clock in the room ticked off the
seconds.

"I am sure I did not," he replied firmly. "No; that was the next
time that I took my handkerchief out."

"Huh!" muttered Greg. "We've got our start. And it won't be
far to the end, either. Cheer up, old man!"

At that instant the call for formation sounded. The young men
were ready and turned to leave the room on the jump. As they
did so, Greg muttered in a low tone:

"Say nothing, but hold up your head and smile. Don't let anyone
face you down. Not ten fellows in the corps will even guess that
you could possibly be guilty of anything mean!"

Wouldn't they? West Point cadets have such an utter contempt
for anything savoring of cheating or lying that the mere suspicion
is often enough to make them hold back.

As the cadets moved to their places in the formations scores of
cadets passed Prescott.

Short as the time had been, the news was already flying through
the corps.

Usually Dick had a score of greetings as made his way to his place
in line. Today dozen cadets who had been among his friends seemed
not to see him.

Dick recoiled, inwardly, as though from a stinging blow in the
face. None of his comrades meant to be cruel. But most of them
wanted to make sure that the seemingly reliable charge was not
true. They must wait.

Utterly dejected, Prescott marched to dinner. On his way back
to barracks a new and overwhelming thought came to him.

Laura Bentley and her mother, and Belle Meade were due at the
hotel the next afternoon, and he and Greg had arranged to drag
the girls to the Saturday-night hop.

"Greg, I can't leave quarters," muttered Dick huskily, as he threw
himself down at his desk and began to write rapidly. "You'll
have to attend to sending this telegram for me."

"On the jump!" assented Greg,

The telegram was addressed to Laura Bentley, and read:

"Don't come to West Point tomorrow. My letter will explain."

"I'll send it before the drawing lesson," Greg uttered, and vanished.

Confined to quarters in close arrest, Cadet Prescott put in more
than two miserable hours endeavoring to get that letter written.
But he couldn't get it penned. Then a knock came the door, and
a telegram was handed in. It read:

"Wife and girls have left for shopping trip in New York. Don't
know w