When it was over, Dodge sought cadet hospital, remaining there until Monday morning, and returning to camp looking somewhat the worse for wear.

Along with truth, honor and courtesy, tenderest chivalry toward woman is one of the fairest flowers of the West Point teaching.

Fellows like yearling Dodge cannot be taught.  They can only be insulted to the fighting point, and then pummelled.  Cadet Furlong went to considerable inconvenience, though uncomplainingly, for two young women whom he had not the pleasure of knowing.

CHAPTER IX

SPOONY FEMME—–­FLIRTATION WALK

“So this is Flirtation Walk?” asked Belle Meade.

The four young people—–­Anstey was one of them—–­had just turned into the famous path, which begins not far to the eastward of the hotel.  It was between one and two o’clock on Sunday afternoon.

“This is Flirtation Walk,” replied Mr. Anstey.

“But is one compelled to flirt, on this stroll?” asked Belle, with a comical pout.

“By no means,” Anstey hastened to assure her.  “Yet the surroundings often bring out all there may be of slumbering inclination to flirt.”

“Where did the walk ever get such a name?” pursued Belle.

“Really, you have to see the first half of it before you can quite comprehend,” the Virginian told her.

“I suppose you have been over this way times innumerable?” teased Miss Meade.

“Hardly,” replied Anstey seriously.  “I have been a yearling only a few days.”

“But is a plebe forbidden to stroll here?”

“If a plebe did have the brass to try it,” replied Anstey slowly, “I reckon he would have to fight the whole yearling class in turn.”

Laura caught some of the conversation, and turned to Dick.

“Haven’t plebes any rights or privileges?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, indeed,” replied Prescott gravely.  “A plebe is fed three meals a day, like anyone else.  If he gets hurt he has a right to medical and surgical attendance.  He is allowed to attend chapel on Sunday, just like an upper classman, and he may receive and write letters.  But he mustn’t butt into upper-class privileges.”

“Poor plebe!” sighed sympathetic Laura.

“Lucky plebe!” amended Dick.

“Weren’t you fearfully glum and homesick last year?

“Some of the time, desperately so.”

“Yet you believe it is right to ignore a plebe, and to make him so wretched?”

“The upper classmen don’t make the plebe wretched.  The plebe is just on probation while he’s in the fourth class—–­that’s all.  The plebe is required to prove that he’s a man before he’s accepted as one.”

“It all seems dreadfully hard,” contended Laura.