"Rah, rah, ray! Rah, rah, ray! West Point, West Point, Armee Ray, ray, ray! U.S.M.A.!"
"Prescott!"
Dick Prescott's chest began to heave, though he strove to conceal all emotion. It was sweet, indeed, to have all this enthusiasm over him, after he had so long been the innocent outcast of the class.
Tears shone in either eye. Ashamed to raise a hand to brush the moisture away, Dick tried to wink them out of sight.
But Douglass, Durville and the others gave him no time to think. They came crowding about him faster than they could reach him, each with outstretched hand.
Little was said. Soldiers are proverbially silent, preferring deeds to words. So, for nearly ten minutes, the handshaking proceeded. At last Douglass, with a warning nod and several gestures, brought the temporary chairman to his senses.
Rap! rap! rap! rang the gavel on the desk.
"The class will please come to order," called Chairman Fullerton. "Now, gentlemen, is there any further business to come before the class?"
"Mr. Chairman," called Douglass, "I move that we proceed to the election of a class president."
"Second the motion," cried Durville.