Haynes stopped short, his jaw drooping. For just a second he stiffened his arms as though to throw himself in an attitude of defence.
Halting, without speaking or raising a hand, Dick Prescott looked squarely into the other man's eyes.
Haynes turned ghastly pale, his jaw moving nervously as though he would speak and could not.
A smile of scorn flashed into Prescotts face. Haynes fairly writhed beneath that contemptuous look. Then, still without a word or a sound, Prescott passed on.
"He did it!" muttered Dick to himself.
Yet, with the certainty of the turnbacks guilt, Prescott did not wish Haynes any personal harm. The only greatly perturbed thought that ran through Dick's mind was:
"That fellow is not fit for the Army. Must he be allowed to go on and graduate?"
Thrice during the dinner period Dick allowed his glance to rove over to the turnback. Not once did he catch Haynes's eye, but that young man was making only a pretence at eating.
"If he really pushed me from the train," muttered Prescott to himself, "I hope Haynes worries about it until he fesses cold in some study and so has to leave the Military Academy. For he'll never be fit to be an officer. He couldn't command other men with justice."