“They’re going to make the announcements,” Sam said, and his hands trembled as he reached for his cap.
Tom said nothing, but gritted his teeth. If he had failed—well, he had made a brave attempt.
Downstairs went the candidates, all of them eagerly anxious, and perhaps not one but was nervously anxious. Their faces showed the strain they were under.
In the area they were formed in a single rank, while in front of them stood the adjutant of the Academy—the same one to whom Tom and the others had reported the first day of their arrival.
He announced that those whose names he called were to step two paces to the front, the others were to maintain their place in the ranks. The name-calling followed immediately, in alphabetical order, and, one after another, certain lads stepped out. Tom’s name would come far down on the list. He listened when the “H” division was reached, but Houston’s was not called. Nor was Leland’s. And the adjutant went through the “T” column without mentioning Tom.
Our hero was puzzled. Had he failed? Why had his name not been called if he passed? No one seemed to understand what it was all about or what system was being followed.
Finally the reading was over. In front, two paces in advance of one line, stood another row of cadets. The front rank was the smaller in number.
Then, with wildly-beating hearts, Tom and the others listened to the words of the adjutant. Those whose names had been called, he stated, had failed in their examinations, and could not continue at the Academy. They would turn in their equipment and withdraw. The others would remain, and start on their four years’ training to become army officers.
“Then I’ve passed!” Tom said, exultantly to himself. “I’ve passed and Clarence hasn’t!”
He wanted to laugh, to shout and yell at his good fortune. Not that he wanted to gloat over the failure of young Hawkesbury. It was just that Tom was fully alive to what it meant to him to have succeeded.