“Ho, ho! Thought you didn’t want to see me in the army?”
“Well, I don’t want to see you go to war,” his mother said gently. “But if it is your ambition to become a West Pointer, and if, as you say, there is a chance to do good work outside of shooting and killing, why, I shall not oppose you. Now let’s hurry home. I must get the dress finished, West Point or not,” and she smiled.
Tom walked beside her, reading over and over again the notice of the examination soon to be held. In brief it was a statement from the congressman of that district to the effect, that, as he had a chance to name a youth to go to West Point, he had decided to throw the chance open to all the eligible lads of his district. They were to report at the Preston Court House on a certain day.
“And I’ll be there!” exclaimed Tom. “But I say though—hold on. There’s something I almost forgot!” and a shade of annoyance passed over his face.
“What is it, Tom?” asked his mother, as they neared the cottage.
“I have to have a hundred dollars, Mother.”
“A hundred dollars, Tom! What for?”
“To deposit at West Point,—that is if I get the permanent appointment,” he explained. “It’s a sort of guarantee to cover preliminary cost of equipment, and so on. I almost forgot that. A hundred dollars! It’s a pile of money!”
“But you don’t need it right away; do you?”
“No, not until June, when I’ll have to report at the Military Academy in case I’m successful. But—”