Cadet Furlong made a gurgling sound in his throat, as though he were perishing for lack of air.

“Prescott isn’t serious,” hinted Griffin.

“Yes, I am,” contended Dick, half stubbornly.  “Griffin, what did you think of yearlings—–­last year?”

“What I thought, last year,” retorted Cadet Griffin, “doesn’t much matter now.  Then I was an ignorant, stupid, unregenerate, unsophisticated, useless, worthless and objectionable member of the community.  I hadn’t advanced far enough to appreciate the very exalted position that a yearling holds by right.”

“We now know, quite well,” broke in Dobbs, “that it is a yearling’s sacred and bounden duty to lick a plebe into shape in the shortest possible order.  Though it never has been done, and never can be done inside of a year,” he finished with a sigh.

“Do you seek words of wisdom from your class president?” Cadet Prescott inquired.

“Oh, yes, wise and worthy sir!” begged Furlong.

“Then this is almost the best that I can think of,” Dick went on.  It will never be possible to stamp out wholly the hazing of plebes at West Point.  But we fellows can make a new record, if we will, by frowning on all severe and needless forms of hazing.  I had the reputation of getting a lot of hazing last year, didn’t I?”

“You surely did, old ramrod,” murmured Furlong sympathetically.  “At times, then, my heart ached for you, but now, with my increased intelligence, I perceive how much good it all did you.”

“I took my hazing pretty well, didn’t I?” insisted Dick.

“All that came your way you took like a gentleman,” agreed Dobbs.

“At that time,” went on Prescott, “I made up my mind that I’d submit, during my plebedom.  But I also made up my mind—–­and it still my mind—–­that I’d go very slow, indeed, in passing the torment on to the plebes who followed me.”

Dick spoke so seriously that there was an awkward pause.

“I don’t want you to think that I’m going to set up as a yearling saint,” Dick added.  “I don’t mean to say that I may not put a single plebe through any kind of pace.  What I do mean is that I shall go very slowly indeed in annoying any plebe.  I shan’t do it, probably, unless I note a case of such utter b.j.-ety that I feel bound to bring the plebe quickly to his senses.”

“You cast a gloom over us,” muttered Furlong.  “So far we haven’t done any hazing.  We were thinking of ordering a plebe in here, and starting in on him, so as to get our hands in.  We need practice in the fine art.”

“Don’t let me interfere with your pursuit of happiness,” begged Dick, with mock politeness.

“But, seriously, old ramrod, are you as strong for the plebe as we have just been led to believe?  Are you prepared to take the plebe to our heart and comfort him—–­instead of training him?”

“Do you believe we ought to take the plebe right into our midst, and condole with him until we get him over his homesickness?  Do you feel that we should overlook all the traditional b.j.ety of the plebe, and admit him to full fellowship without any probation or instruction?”