Phin Drayne, lounging about purposely, with the shambling gait, often saw these happy chums, and scowled after them.

“Everything seems to come to them!” growled Phin.  “What rot it is to say that this is a square world, and that everyone has the same chance!  Why doesn’t something good come my way?”

The oftener Phin looked in the direction of the chums, and more particularly of Dick, the blacker did Drayne’s thoughts become.

“Prescott has had everything come his way ever since he entered High School,” growled Phin.  “And now the mucker is going off to West Point, and the government is going to stamp him ‘gentleman.’  A gentleman?  Pooh!  I’d like to show him up, as a bumptious upstart.  Phin scowled fiercely for a moment, before he added: 

“And, by glory, I will do something to him!  I’ll take the conceit out of Dick Prescott!”

At first it was only the purpose that formed in Drayne’s dark mind.  But, by dint of much thinking, he began to feel that he saw the way of working to Prescott’s complete disgrace.

Dick, in the meantime, was still writing occasionally for “The Blade.”

“I’m afraid you’ve slipped away from us, Dick,” declared Mr. Pollock, with a wry smile.  “If you go to West Point and pass the exams. there, then newspaper work is going to lose one of its bright, promising young men.”

“But I always told you that my plans would undoubtedly take me away from ‘The Blade’ when my High School life was done with,” Prescott answered.

“Yes; but why do you want the life of the uniform?  That’s what I fail to understand?  Why don’t you go into something connected with the pulsing everyday life of the country?  Here you are, going away to bury yourself in a uniform.  You’ll work, of course; the Army is no place for loafers.  But after all, you’re only preparing for war, and you may be an old, white-haired officer before we have another war.”

“If that war does come in your life time,” returned Dick, “you’ll know what we of the uniforms have been working for all along.  You’ll realize, then, that an Army’s biggest work isn’t fighting, in time of war, but preparing in time of peace.  And you’ll thank every one of us when the time comes.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose so,” smiled the editor.  “But it all seems so far away.  Now, here is something much more practical right at hand.  Take these burglaries that have been annoying the small merchants lately.  The police don’t seem to be able to catch the fellow.  For the last three days I’ve taken Len Spencer off of all other work and set him to trying to run down the burglar.  Now, Len isn’t afraid of much, and he’s one of the brightest young reporters going.  Yet Len admits he’s stumped.  All the while the merchants are fearing that the burglar will bring about bigger losses.  Dick Prescott, if you could catch that burglar, and see him sent off where he belongs, you’d be doing a vastly greater service to the community than you possibly could by helping the country prepare for a war that is thirty or forty years away.”