“Well, ’be good and you’ll be happy’—–­but you won’t have a good time,” laughed Greg, who, having finished his inspection of himself in the tiny glass, was now ready to depart.

“On your way, Holmesy,” nodded Dick, glancing at the time.  “It’s a long walk, even for a cadet, to Captain Steele’s quarters.”

Greg went away, humming under his breath.

“There’s a chap whom care rarely hits,” mused Dick, looking half enviously after his chum.  “I wonder really if he ever will marry?”

Presently Dick picked up his camp chair and placed it just outside at the door of his tent.  It was pleasant to sit there in the semi-gloom.

But presently he began to wonder, a little, that none of the fellows dropped around for a chat, for he was aware that a number of the first classmen were not booked for the hop that night.

From time to time Dick saw a first classman enter or leave the tent of Cadet Jordan.

“He seems unusually popular to-night,” thought Prescott, with a smile.  “Well, better late than never.  Poor Jordan has never been much of a favorite before.  I wonder if my reporting him to-day has made the fellows take more notice of him?  It is a rare thing, these days, for a first classman to be confined to his company street.”

For Prescott the evening became, in fact, so lonely that presently he rose, left the encampment and strolled along the road leading to the West Point Hotel.  On other than hop nights, this road was likely to be crowded with couples.  That night, however, nearly all of the young ladies at West Point had been favored with invitations to Cullum Hall.

Tattoo was sounding just as Prescott crossed the line at post number one on reentering camp.  In half an hour more, it would be taps.  At taps, all lights in tents were expected to be out, and the cadets, save those actually on duty, to be in their beds.  An exception was made in favor of cadets who had received permission to escort young ladies to the hop.  Each cadet who had to return to the hotel, or to officers’ quarters with a young lady had received the needed permission, and the time it would take him to go to the young lady’s destination and return to camp was listed at the guard tent.  Any cadet who took more than the permitted time to escort his partner of the hop to her abiding place would be subject for report.

However, the special duty imposed upon Cadet Prescott for this night related to plebes, and plebes do not go to the hops.

Bringing out his camp chair, Dick sat once more before his tent.  Down at Jordan’s tent he could still hear the low hum of cadet voices.

“Something is certainly going on there,” mused Prescott.

For a moment or two he felt highly curious; then he repressed that feeling.

“Good evening, Prescott.”

“Oh, good evening, Stubbs.”

Cadet Stubbs came to a brief halt before the cadet captain’s tent.