obey, for Prescott was speaking now as cadet commander of A company, to which company Mr. Jordan belonged.

"Oh, I'll pay you back for this!" raged the disciplined cadet, trembling as he stepped forward.

By this time, many other cadets were out in the company street. Soon after the loud, snappy tones of the bugle summoned the two battalions to dinner formation.

A little while before Cadet Adjutant Filson had approached Jordan, the commandant of cadets, sitting in his tent over by post number one, had sent for the Engineer instructor of the forenoon.

"Mr. Armstrong," asked the commandant, "how much is there in this report against Mr. Jordan this morning? Does Mr. Jordan deserve severe discipline?"

"In my opinion he does, sir," replied Lieutenant Armstrong. "I had the whole happening under observation, though I pretended not to see it."

"Why did you make such pretence, Mr. Armstrong?"

"Because I was watching to see how a man like Mr. Prescott would conduct himself when in command."

Lieutenant Armstrong then related all of the particulars that he had seen of Jordan's conduct.

"Then I am very glad that Mr. Prescott reported Mr. Jordan," replied the commandant of cadets. "Mr. Jordan is a first classman and should be above any such conduct. We will confine Mr. Jordan to his company street for one week; and on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons during the continuance of the encampment, he shall walk punishment tours."

Then the commandant of cadets had passed the word for Cadet Adjutant Filson, to whom he had entrusted the order that the reader has already seen delivered.

But Jordan, unable to realize that he had proved himself unfit as a soldier found his hatred of Dick Prescott growing with every step of the march that carried the cadet corps to dinner at the cadet mess hall.

"Prescott may feel mighty big and proud now!" growled the disgruntled one. "But will he—-when I get through with him?"

CHAPTER II

JORDAN REACHES OUT FOR REVENGE

"Hello, there, Stubbs!" called Jordan from the doorway of his tent.

"Oh, that you, Jordan?" called Stubbs.

"Yes; come in, won't you?"

Cadet Stubbs, of the first class, looked slightly surprised, for he had never been an intimate of this particular cadet.

"What's the matter?" asked Stubbs, pushing aside the tent flap and stepping into the tent.

Then, remembering something he had heard, Stubbs continued quickly:

"You're in a little trouble of some kind, aren't you, old man?"

"Oh, I'm in con." growled Mr. Jordan.

"Con." is the brief designation for "confinement."

"Some report this morning, eh?"

"Yes; that dog Prescott sprung a roorback on me. Sit down, won't you?"

"No, thank you," replied Cadet Stubbs more coolly. "Jordan, `dog' is a pretty extreme word to apply to a brother cadet."

"Oh, are you one of that fellow's admirers?" demanded the man in con.

"I've always been an admirer of manliness," replied Stubbs boldly.

"Then how can you stand for a bootlick?" shot out Jordan angrily.

"I don't stand for a bootlick," replied Cadet Stubbs. "I never did."

"Now, I don't want to play baby," went on Jordan half eagerly. "I'm not resenting, on my own account, what happened to-day. But it was an outrage on general principles, for the affair made a fool of me before a lot of new yearlings. Stubbs, we're first classmen, and we shouldn't be humiliated before yearlings in this manner."

"I wasn't there," replied Stubbs. "I was over at the rifle range, you know."

"Then I'll tell you what happened."

Cadet Jordan began a narration of the scene that had ended in his being relieved from engineering instruction that forenoon. Jordan didn't exactly lie, which is always a dangerous thing for a West Point cadet to do, but he colored his narrative so cleverly as to make it rather plain that Cadet Prescott had acted beyond his real authority.

"Still," argued Stubbs doubtfully, "there must have been some reason. I've known Prescott ever since he entered the Academy, and I never saw anything underhanded in him."

"I wouldn't call it underhanded, either," explained Jordan. "Prescott's manner with me might much better be described as overbearing."

"It would have been underhanded, had he reported you when you were really doing nothing unmilitary or improper," interposed Stubbs quickly.

"Are you trying to defend the fellow?" demanded Jordan swiftly.

"No; Prescott, I think, is always quite ready to attend to his own defence. But I'm astonished, Jordan, at the charge you make against him, and I'm trying to understand it."

"What I object to, more than anything else," insisted Jordan, "was his making a fool of me before new yearlings. That is where I think the greatest grievance lies. First classmen are men of some dignity. We are not to be treated like plebes, especially by any members of our own class who may be dressed in a little brief authority. Sit down, won't you, Stubbs?"

"No, thank you, Jordan. I must be on my way soon."

"But I want to get you and a half a dozen other representative first classmen together," wheedled Jordan. "I think we should all talk this over as a strictly class matter. Then, if I'm convinced that I'm in the wrong, I'm going to stop talking."

Crafty Jordan didn't mean exactly what he said.

He would stop talking, if convinced, but he didn't intend to be convinced. He was after Dick Prescott's scalp. Jordan well knew that, at West Point (and at Annapolis, too, for that matter) class action against a man is severer and more irrevocable than even any action that the authorities of the Military Academy itself can take. He wanted to put Prescott wholly in the wrong in the matter. Class action could, at need, drive Prescott out of the corps and end his connection with the Army. For, if a man be condemned by his class at West Point, the feud is carried over into the Army as long as the offender against class ethics dares try to remain in the service.

At the least, Jordan hoped to stir up class feeling to such an extent that, if Prescott were not actually "cut" by class action, at least his popularity would be greatly dimmed.

"So won't you take part in the meeting?" coaxed Jordan, as Cadet
Stubbs moved toward the door.

"I don't believe I will," replied Mr. Stubbs. "I'd feel out of place in such a crowd, for I've always considered myself Prescott's friend."

"Do you place your friendship for Prescott above the dignity and honor of the class?" demanded Jordan.

Stubbs flushed.

"I don't believe I'll stay, Jordan, thank you. But I can offer you some advice, if you feel in need of any."

"Yes? Commence firing!"

"Go slow in your grudge against Prescott. Personally, I don't want to see either of you hurt."

"Oh, Prescott won't really be hurt," sneered Jordan. "He told me flatly that he'd decline any calling out that I might attempt."

"You—-you didn't try to call him out, did you?"

"I hinted that I might do so."

"Call him out for reporting you?"

"Oh, I didn't specify what the