"What I thought, last year," retorted Cadet Griffin, "doesn't much matter now. Then I was an ignorant, stupid, unregenerate, unsophisticated, useless, worthless and objectionable member of the community. I hadn't advanced far enough to appreciate the very exalted position that a yearling holds by right."
"We now know, quite well," broke in Dobbs, "that it is a yearling's sacred and bounden duty to lick a plebe into shape in the shortest possible order. Though it never has been done, and never can be done inside of a year," he finished with a sigh.
"Do you seek words of wisdom from your class president?" Cadet
Prescott inquired.
"Oh, yes, wise and worthy sir!" begged Furlong.
"Then this is almost the best that I can think of," Dick went on. It will never be possible to stamp out wholly the hazing of plebes at West Point. But we fellows can make a new record, if we will, by frowning on all severe and needless forms of hazing. I had the reputation of getting a lot of hazing last year, didn't I?"
"You surely did, old ramrod," murmured Furlong sympathetically. "At times, then, my heart ached for you, but now, with my increased intelligence, I perceive how much good it all did you."
"I took my hazing pretty well, didn't I?" insisted Dick.
"All that came your way you took like a gentleman," agreed Dobbs.
"At that time," went on Prescott, "I made up my mind that I'd submit, during my plebedom. But I also made up my mind—-and it still my mind—-that I'd go very slow, indeed, in passing the torment on to the plebes who followed me."
Dick spoke so seriously that there was an awkward pause.