It was a fortnight ere Cadet Prescott could feel really secure against more "joshing" over the incident.
"I'm better satisfied than if we had done what we set out to do to that plebe," remarked Yearling Davis to his tentmates.
"Mr. Prescott is a rather decent sort—for a mere plebe," replied Poultney. "Do you know, I think he's almost glad that he caught the dummy we rigged for him. I believe the little beast would have hated to catch a uniform stuffed with human flesh."
CHAPTER XIV
POOR GREG CAN'T EXPLAIN
The weeks slipped by, though not without the friction of sincerely hard work.
Dick, Greg and many of their classmates, toiling, marching, drilling under the hot sun that shone on the West Point plain and drill areas, acquired deep coats of manly tan on faces, necks and hands.
In many a story of West Point life the summer encampment is made to appear "the good old summer time" of an Army career. The West Point cadet knows better. It is a season of the hardest work.
At an hour when most city-dwelling boys are turning over in bed for another long and luxurious "snooze" the West Point cadet is up and doing in earnest.
There is much instruction that the young man has to absorb. Merely to take part is not enough. The young man must make himself proficient in such branches of the soldier's art as cavalry tactics, drill, horsemanship, scouting, artillery tactics and drill, with drill at the guns of different calibers, and target practice with field, siege, mountain, mortar, howitzer and seacoast guns, with a lot of work in the service of mines.