By this time both Dick and Greg had acquired the habits of study so thoroughly that neither any longer feared for his standing or markings.

To Prescott there was one big comfort about being back in the old, gray cadet barracks.

The silence put upon Dick was not now quite as much in evidence.  With long study hours, Prescott had not so much need to meet his classmates.

In the section rooms nothing in the deportment of the other cadets could emphasize the silence.

It was only in the authorized visiting hours that Prescott noted the change keenly.

Of course, according to the traditions of the Military Academy, Anstey and all the other loyal friends who ached to call were barred from so doing.

While taps sounds at ten o’clock, and members of the three lower classes must be in bed, with lights out, at the first sound of taps, first classmen are privileged, whenever they wish, to run a light until eleven at night, provided the extra time be spent in study.

One evening in early September, Dick and Greg were both busy at study table, when Dick chanced to look over some papers connected with his studies.  As he did so, he drew out an officially backed sheet, and started.

“Jupiter!” he muttered.  “I should have turned this in before supper formation.”

“Who gets the report?” asked Greg, looking up.

“It goes to the officer in charge,” Dick answered.

“Oh, well, he’s up yet.  You can slip over to his office with it,” replied Greg easily.

“And I’ll do it at once.  It may mean a demerit or two, for lack of punctuality, but I’m glad it’s no worse.”

Jumping up and donning his fatigue cap, Prescott thrust the neglected official report into the breast of his uniform blouse, soldier fashion.

Then he walked slowly out, halting just inside the subdivision door.

“I don’t mind a few demerits, but I don’t like to be accused of unsoldierly neglect,” mused the young cadet captain.  “Let me see if I can think up a way of presenting my statement so that the O.C. won’t scorch me.”

As Dick stood there in the gloom, a quick, soft step sounded outside.  Then the door was carefully opened, and a young man in citizen’s dress entered.

Civilians rarely have a right, to be in cadet barracks at any time of the day.  It is wholly out of the question for one to enter barracks after taps.

“What are you doing in here, sir?” Dick questioned sternly, putting out his hand to take the other’s arm.

Then the young cadet captain drew back in near-horror.

“Good heavens!  Durville?” he gasped.

“Yes.  Sh!” whispered the other cadet, slinking back, a frightened look in his eyes.

No cadet, while at West Point, may, without proper permission, appear in any clothing save the uniform of the day or of the tour.  No cadet ever attempts to don “cits.” unless he is up to some grave mischief, such as leaving the post.