Now Dick held up the other letter.  This also was addressed in a feminine hand—–­as most of a cadet’s mail is.  It was a small, square envelope, without crest or monogram, but the paper and cut were scrupulously good and fine.  It was the kind of stationery that would be used by girl brought up in a home of refined surroundings.

Dick broke the seal with a consciousness of a little thrill that he had not felt in opening his mother’s letter.  Dick did not have to look for the signature; he knew the penmanship.

“My Dear Mr. Prescott,” began the letter. ("Hm!” muttered the reader.  “It used to be ‘Dick’”)

“Your note came as a delightfully pleasant surprise,” Dick read on ("Now, I wonder why it should have been a surprise?  Great Scott!  Now, I come to think of it, I hadn’t written her before since last February!”)

“Of course we are going to drop all other plans for a flying visit to West Point,” the letter ran on.  “Belle is simply delighted with the idea.  She has heard from Mr. Darrin, but he suggests September as the best time for us to visit Annapolis.  So mother will bring Belle and myself to West Point.  We can spend two or three days there.  We shall arrive late on the afternoon on-----”

As Dick read the date, he gave a start.

“Why, they’ll be here tomorrow afternoon,” throbbed Prescott.

Then and there Prescott stood up in the low-ceilinged tent and tossed his campaign hat up to the ridgepole.  That piece of headgear didn’t have far to travel, but Dick accompanied it with an “hurrah!” uttered almost under his breath.

“Won’t Greg be the tickled boy!” murmured Prescott; joyously.  “Some one from home—–­and folks that we both like!”

Presently some of the drill squads returned to camp.  Greg and Anstey came in, warm and curious.

“Did you get into any trouble with the O.C., old ramrod?” questioned Anstey in his soft voice.

“I don’t believe I did,” Dick answered.

Anstey nodded his congratulations.

“Greg, old fellow, guess what’s going to happen soon?” demanded Prescott.

“I’d rather you’d tell me.”

“Folks from home!  Mrs. Bentley, Laura and Belle Meade will be here late tomorrow afternoon!

“Great!” admitted Cadet Holmes, but to Dick’s ear his chum’s enthusiasm seemed perfunctory.

“We’ll drag femmes to the hop tomorrow night, eh, Greg?”

“Anything on earth that you say, old ramrod,” agreed Holmes placidly, then stepped out of his tent to visit across the way.

“Spoony femmes?” inquired Anstey.

“Spooniest ever!” Dick declared.

“L.P.?”

“Not on your coming shoulder-straps!” retorted Prescott, an eager look in his eyes.  “And say, Anstey, you’re going to the hop tomorrow night, aren’t you?

“Hadn’t thought so,” replied the other quietly.

“Anything else on?”