“But to think they profited by it, and then to have them treat us as they do galls me,” Tom went on to himself. “If I could only find out whether there was anything wrong—any deal between Hawkesbury and Doolittle—I might be able to get back something out of the wreck. But I guess they’re too foxy for me.”
Captain Hawkesbury’s evident dislike of Tom had not abated much. True the army captain could not do a great deal to Tom, but what little he could do he did, and it only takes a little additional, during a lad’s first year at West Point, to make him almost hate life. The only excuse is that it is excellent training for him.
Every time he had a chance Captain Hawkesbury made matters unpleasant for Tom, giving him extra hours of guard duty for the slightest infraction of rules. Be Tom’s shoes never so brilliantly polished, his rifle never so shining, and his face never so cleanly shaved, he often was called to account for some fancied neglect. Others, as well, were reprimanded by different officers, but every one noticed that more than Tom’s just share of reproof and punishment was meted out to him.
“I know what he’s doing it for, too,” Tom told his chums. “He hopes I’ll withdraw and make a vacancy in our district so Clarence will have a chance. But I’m going to stick!” he declared with a grim tightening of his lips.
“That’s right!” exclaimed Sam, clapping Tom heartily on the back.
And so life went on, not altogether evenly, but as happily as could be expected.
With the usual noise, shouting and hilarity the class that was on furlough—the second year men—came back with the usual ceremonies; marching up the hill from the station, and posing for their photograph on the chapel steps. Before this, however, they had been pulled and hauled about, to make their clothing and hats look more like the apparel of tramps than anything else. But that was part of the game.
Soon they had gone on to barracks, where they donned their natty uniforms, and once again they took up life where they had left off. Two more years of it and they would graduate.
Tom looked at them longingly. Would he ever reach that point? It seemed very far off.
Finally came the day for breaking camp. The tents, the ropes of which had been previously loosed, fell as one at the tap of the drum, and a little later, piled in wagons, were being carted away with the paraphernalia. Then came the marching of the cadets back to barracks, and Tom and Sam went to the room that had been assigned to them, Harry and Chad being quartered near.