“Will nothing ever drive that living disgrace Prescott out of the corps?” Jordan asked three or four of the men.  “Why, the fellow is defying class authority!  He’s making fools of us all.  He bluntly asks us what we think we can do about it!”

“We’ll have to show Prescott, then,” grimly replied one of the cadets with whom Jordan talked.

“But how?” demanded Cadet Jordan craftily.  “Is there any possible way of making as thickheaded or stubborn a fellow as Prescott realize that he simply can’t go on with us?  That we won’t have him with us?”

“Oh, I think there’s a way,” smiled the other cadet.

“Then I wonder why some one doesn’t find it?” demanded Jordan wrathfully.

“We shall, I think.”

Greg scented new mischief in the air, yet he was hardly the one to do the scouting.

Anstey, however, could look about for the news, and he could properly discuss it with Cadet Holmes.

With the beginning of the last half of the year the members of the first class found themselves sufficiently busy with their studies.  Dick’s affair was allowed to slumber for a few days.

Even Cadet Jordan, whose sole purpose now in life was to “work” Prescott out of the corps, was clever enough to assent to letting the matter rest for a few days.

After another fortnight, however, the first class, in its moments of leisure, especially in the brief rests right after meals, again began to throb over what was considered the brazen and open defiance of Dick Prescott in persisting in remaining a cadet at the Military Academy.

So many members of the class, however, insisted on going slowly and with great deliberation that the Jordan faction did not make the mistake of rushing matters.  At any rate, Prescott was in Coventry, and there he would stay.

Thus February came on and passed slowly.  To all outward appearances Prescott was as selfpossessed and contented as ever he had been while at the Military Academy.

Now, Army baseball was the topic.  The nine and other members of the baseball squad were practising in earnest.  Durville had been chosen to captain the nine.

Though there was some mighty good material in the nine, neither the coaches nor Durville were wholly satisfied.

“Holmesy,” broached Durville plaintively one day, “you play a grand game of football.”

“Thank you,” replied Greg, with a pretense of mock modesty; “I know it.”

“And you must play a great game of ball, too.”

“I did once—–­pardon these blushes.  Dick Prescott was my old trainer in baseball.”

“Oh, bother Prescott!  We can’t have him.”

“I don’t play well without him,” remarked Greg blandly.

“Come over to practice this afternoon, won’t you?”

“Yes; but I don’t believe I’ll try for the nine.”

“Come over and let us see your style, any way.”