a few days after tom had received the letter from congressman hutton, our hero was further elated to get another missive through the mail. this came in a long official-looking envelope. it bore the imprint of the secretary of war’s office, and came through the post office without bearing a stamp, which fact further gave tom an idea of the importance he was beginning to assume.
“though of course clarence got one like it, too, i suppose,” he thought. “well, i can’t have everything to myself.”
the letter from the secretary of war, signed with his own name, much to tom’s delight, formally notified our hero of his appointment, and directed him to report on a certain date, about the middle of june, at west point for further examination.
“and now,” decided tom, after he had shown the secretary’s letter to his mother and to many[pg 36] admiring friends, “i’m going to buckle down to hard work. i’ve just got to pass those exams!”
tom had little doubt as to the result of the physical tests. he was in fine condition; he had lived a manly, clean life.
he played baseball and football in season, he was a good runner, jumper and swimmer. in short, he was an average, healthful american lad—a good all-around athlete, though no phenomenon in any one branch of sport.
he had been quickly passed by the first doctors who examined him, and though he realized that the physical tests at west point would be more severe, he was not worrying on that score.
“but they may spring something on me in the mental tests that i’m not ready for,” mused tom. “so i’m going to buck up.”
with this end in view he went to his high school principal, and had him map out a course of extra study that would bridge our hero over several rather shaky places. this was about the middle of may, so tom had nearly a full month in which to prepare.
he heard indirectly that clarence hawkesbury was doing the same thing, but clarence made rather a secret of it. tom met him one evening in town, after a moving picture show given under the auspices of a high school society.
“well, what’s the good word?” asked clarence,[pg 37] with an appearance of good-fellowship tom knew did not exist. clarence blew out a cloud of highly-scented cigarette smoke as he put the question.
“oh, everything’s lovely,” tom answered, easily.
“hear you’re going to west point with me, as alternate,” went on clarence, speaking in unnecessarily loud tones.
“i thought it was the other way around,” responded tom, slowly. “i understand you are the alternate.”
“pooh, you didn’t beat me more than five points on the average,” boasted clarence, and this was true enough as far as the mental examination went. it was not true with the physical, however. “and i’ll lay you odds of two to one that i stay at west point and you come back,” went on clarence, sneeringly.
“thank you. i don’t bet,” replied tom. “but that needn’t stop you,” he added, for he did not want to be thought a prig.
“oh, don’t worry! it won’t!” declared the youth, who had more money than was good for him. he swung off down the street with some cronies, spenders like himself, and a little later tom and a chum or two passed them standing in the door of a poolroom, whence came the click of the ivory and colored balls.
[pg 38]
as tom passed he saw clarence and isaac blake, two cronies, in close conversation in one corner of the doorway. apparently they did not observe tom, who heard isaac remark:
“think you’ll get a chance at him?”
“i’ll make the chance, if i don’t get it,” muttered clarence. “if i can’t get there one way i shall another. can i depend on you?”
“you sure can,” ike said, and then tom heard no more, for he passed on down the street.
“i wonder who it is they want a chance at?” tom reflected. but if he gave it any further thought it was to guess idly that the talk referred to some one whom clarence wanted to beat at pool or billiards.
that night tom sat up late doing some extra studying, for he had neglected his lessons somewhat in order to go to the picture show.
tom felt a bit tired the next day. he realized what caused it—studying too late. his eyes, too, were tired; possibly from pouring too long over text books, added to the strain of watching what the scotchman called the “shiftin’ pictures.”
“i know what i’m going to do,” thought tom. “i’ll go for a walk down by the river. it’s a fine day, and it ought to be nice on the water. i’ll get a boat and go for a row all by myself. i want to calm down. i’ve been doing too much thinking.”
[pg 39]
it was friday, and because of some special exercises the high school closed earlier than usual. tom hurried home, changed into an old suit that would not be soiled by the water or mud in a boat, and made his way to the river. there were several pavilions where boats could be hired, but tom, feeling rather in the mood for walking, went on until he had nearly reached the big railroad bridge, not far from which was a boathouse.
“and to think my father once owned all this land,” tom mused as he looked at the big foundations on one side of the river. “if we had what the railroad company paid for it mother wouldn’t have to work so hard. of course money wouldn’t make any difference to me at west point. that’s one place where money doesn’t count. but if we had a few thousands mother could be nearer me, say in new york, and she could run up to see me once in a while. it’s going to be a long drill—two years at a stretch. but i guess i can stand it all right.”
tom was about to proceed to the boathouse to hire a craft, when he was aware of a figure coming around a bend in the path that led to the river. a moment later he saw that it was captain hawkesbury. rather a stern and forbidding figure it was too, for the uncle of clarence was a gruff man, though it was said he was very fond of his nephew.
[pg 40]
“good afternoon, sir,” said tom, saluting in what he hoped was the correct military fashion.
“um! afternoon,” was the half-grunted retort. nor did captain hawkesbury take the trouble to return the salute. perhaps he did not see it, or tom may not have executed it properly.
“oh, it’s you! is it; young taylor?” went on the captain, looking at our hero from under shaggy, heavy eyebrows. “um! i—er—i understand you’re going to have a try at west point, young man.”
“yes, captain! i’m going to take the examinations.”
“and my nephew—er—he’s going too?”
“yes. he’s my alternate!”
tom could not refrain from that little exultation.
“um, yes. well, i don’t wish you any bad luck, young man, but i believe clarence will win. he comes of fighting stock, sir! fighting stock!” and the army captain smote the ground with his cane, making the dirt fly.
“we have some fighters in our family, too,” tom said, not to be outdone. “on my father’s and mother’s side we boast of what our families did in the revolution.”
“um! oh yes, the taylors did their share—their share,” admitted captain hawkesbury. “well, we shall see! we shall see!” and muttering[pg 41] something under his breath, which tom was not able to catch, the old fighter strode along.
“not a very cheerful sort of man,” thought tom, as he went down to get a boat. he thoroughly enjoyed the row on the river, and began to feel more like himself. he rowed until the lengthening shadows warned him it was time to return to his home, and a little later he was walking along the river bank.
around a bend, near the place where he had met captain hawkesbury some time before, tom heard voices, two of which at least, were familiar to him. the possessors of the voices were talking and laughing rather hilariously.
suddenly footsteps could be heard, indicating that several persons were running along the hard-packed path, and a moment later tom saw clarence, ike and a number of their cronies coming on the run.
“looks as though they were having a race,” mused tom.
“get out the way! let us pass! don’t block the path!” called clarence. “one side, taylor, we’re trying to see who’s the best-footed.”
the path was narrow at this point. on one side was the river and on the other a low, swampy place. tom had hardly room to get to one side.
“they have nerve,” he mused. “why[pg 42] couldn’t they wait until they had room to race. i can’t get out of their way.”
the other lads gave him no chance. on they came swinging toward him, and, an instant later, as clarence tried to pass tom, the rich youth slid down the bank toward the river.
“look out!” tom cried.
“look out yourself!” retorted clarence quickly. “what do you mean by shoving me?”
“i didn’t!” tom answered.
“and i say you did!” snapped clarence. “you did it on purpose, and i’ll make you wish you hadn’t!” he recovered himself and came rushing at tom with clenched fists.
