“Hurrah, Mother!” Tom cried. “It’s all right! I’ve passed! I’ve won out, Mr. Hutton says! I got the highest marks of any in the examination, and he’s sent my name as his nominee for West Point to the Secretary of War. Think of that! To the Secretary of War!”
“Oh, I hope there’ll be no war!” murmured Mrs. Taylor.
“Don’t worry about that part of it, mother!” Tom cried. “Just think of it! I’m going to be a West Point cadet. That is, if I pass the rest of the examinations,” he added more soberly.
“Are there more?” asked Mrs. Taylor.
“Oh, yes,” Tom replied. “I’ll have to answer a lot more questions, and stiffer ones than those they put to us at Preston. I’ll have to go before the doctors, too. But I’m not worrying about that. I’ll have some time before the middle of June, when I have to take the final entrance examinations, and I’ll bone up in the meanwhile. Say, Mother, this is great!” cried Tom, with shining eyes. “Simply great!”
“I’m glad you have succeeded so far, Tom,” said his mother in a low voice. “But it will mean a great deal to me to have you away. Still, I suppose you can come home often. West Point isn’t very far off.”
Tom was silent a moment. His face grew sober.
“No, Mother,” he said, slowly, “I’m afraid I’ll not be able to get back to see you very often if I go to West Point. Cadets are allowed only one furlough in the four years. That is, unless something extraordinary happens. I can come home after I’ve been there two years, but not before.”
“Oh, Tom!”
“But you can come to see me,” he added, quickly, for he felt a pang himself at the thought of the long separation.