Presently the cadets, their faces blacked, came out of the dressing tent, taking their places off the stage. A regulation first part was now provided, with the aid of the band playing as an orchestra. In style it was the minstrel first part with which we are all familiar. There was this difference: The jokes hit off exclusively local affairs and conditions. The officers who served as instructors at West Point did not by any means escape in the running fire of minstrelsy nonsense.
Then came forth a woeful figure, blackfaced and attired in a dilapidated uniform. As he turned sideways it was noted that this cadet, who was really a rollicking second class man, wore on his back a card labeled in large letters:
"Plebe. Please don't mistreat."
At first sight of the pitiable object a roar of laughter went up from the spectators. Nowhere was the laughter louder than in the ranks of the standing plebes themselves, at the rear of the audience. This woeful-looking performer, after the orchestra had played a few preliminary strains, launched into a parody of "Nobody Loves Me." The song was full of hits on the b.j. "beast." The real plebes [Transcriber's note: missing text] with keen enjoyment.
"Mr. Plescott!" called the interlocutor, after the song and two encore verses had been sung.
"Yes, sah," falteringly replied the minstrel plebe, turning awkwardly and saluting with the wrong hand.
Though the name called was "Plescott," half of the plebe class turned to grin at Cadet Richard Prescott.
Dick stood it well, waiting to see what the performer would next say.
"Mr. Plescott," continued the interlocutor, "I heard something said about you this morning that I didn't in the least like."
"Ye-e-es, sah?" inquired the minstrel plebe falteringly.