“Yes, but, Mother, I can’t bear to have you work so hard!”
“Work is the greatest blessing in this world, Tom,” she said with one of her fine smiles. She did not add that it helped her to forget her great loss. But perhaps Tom understood.
Putting aside the memory of the unpleasant interview with Mr. Doolittle, Tom tried to enjoy his furlough. He went out with many of his former friends, and made some new ones. He was in great demand at several little dances gotten up by the High School Alumnae, and he showed some of the girls new steps that he had learned from his cadet chums.
“Say, Tom,” remarked Walter Penfield, one day, “I’ll be glad when you go back to the Academy.”
“Why?” asked Tom, in surprise.
“Because the girls talk about nothing but you and your dances. You don’t give another fellow a show!”
“Oh, if that’s all,” said Tom, “come in and I’ll teach you a few new wrinkles.”
“Good!” cried Walter. “You may stay as long as you like.”
But Tom’s time was strictly limited and he had to return to West Point the last of August. As was the custom, he and his chums marched up the hill, torn and disheveled as to hats and garments, and had their photographs taken. Then they took up the life where they had left off, some two months before.
Tom had been made a cadet officer, and that, with the advance in class, gave him more privileges than he had had formerly. There was harder work to do, of course, for the studies were advanced. He had lessons in astronomy, and had to spend long night hours in the observatory taking observations of the stars. He became a fine mathematician, and he fairly dreamed figures.