After all, hazing, if not too severe and if it is unaccompanied by indignities that lower one’s self-respect, has its use in the world. It teaches a young man certain lessons that are hard to drill into him in other ways. But hazing, as it is often done in schools and colleges, is sometimes a silly performance, and sometimes a positively harmful proceeding.
“What’s the matter, Tom?” asked Harry Houston, a little later, as the three new chums were in their barrack room. “You walk lame.”
“Oh, I got a little bump in the bathroom,” Tom answered, evasively.
“Huh! I think I can guess how,” said Sam. “I didn’t have it so easy yesterday, myself. But it’s all in the day’s work.”
The next day was the last of the examinations, and there were evidences of relief on all sides. But still there was the haunting fear in the heart of every candidate that he had not passed. It would be about two days before the results would be announced, and those two days are, perhaps, filled with more agony than any others in the life of a West Pointer, except, it may be, when the final examinations come.
During the two days of waiting there had been little to occupy the attention of the candidates. They were obliged to keep to their rooms most of the time, and dismal enough it was, too. But there was no help for it.
“I do wish they’d hurry up and end the suspense,” cried Harry one day when it was rumored that the results were to be made known that afternoon.
“Yes, it’s like keeping a fellow on pins and needles all the while,” agreed Sam.
“Hark!” exclaimed Tom, rising to his feet. “I think—”
“Candidates turn out promptly!” came an order, interrupting him. “Turn out!”