“He may have gone on ahead, or he may motor to New York,” Tom thought, for Captain Hawkesbury had a powerful car, and with his nephew frequently took long trips.
“I’m just as glad he isn’t going with me,” Tom thought. Then he settled down to enjoy the journey which would last all day. At noon Tom went to the dining car for lunch, and there he saw, at the table across the aisle from him, some of the lads he had noticed in his own coach. He could overhear some of their talk.
“Well, there’s one thing sure,” remarked a sturdy-looking youth, “if I don’t get through it isn’t going to kill me, and I won’t have to go around four years with my back as straight as a ramrod.”
Tom guessed instantly where his fellow-travelers were going, but he did not like to say anything just yet.
“I don’t mind the examinations so much,” a studious-looking lad remarked, “but I sure do hate to think of getting hazed. They say it’s fierce!”
“So I’ve heard,” agreed another. “Pass the celery; will you?”
“If they try to haze me!” exclaimed a heavy-browed youth, “I’ll show ’em they’ll have their hands full.”
“Well, the more trouble you make the more they’ll make,” said the first speaker with a sigh. “We plebes aren’t supposed to have any rights.”
Tom was sure, now, that the lads across the aisle were “in the same boat” with himself. He could not refrain from speaking to them.
“I beg your pardon,” he remarked, “but are you going to take the West Point examinations?”