"For West Point," he announced, "My candidate will be——-Richard
Prescott, of Gridley. The alternate will be——-"
But Dick Prescott didn't catch a syllable of the alternate's name, for his ears were buzzing. But now, for the first time, Tom Reade was most unsympathetically silent.
"For Annapolis, my candidate will be——-David Darrin, of Gridley.
The alternate——-"
Neither did Darrin hear the name of his alternate. Dave's head was reeling. He was sure it was a dream.
"Pinch me, Tom," he begged, in a hoarse whisper, and Reade complied—-heartily.
"The young men who have won the appointments as candidates and alternates will please come to see me at once, in the anteroom," continued Congressman Spokes, who, however, lingered to address a few words of tactful sympathy to the eager young Americans who had tried and lost.
"Come along, now, and let's get this over with as quickly as possible," grumbled Torn Reade. "This Congressman bores me."
"Bores you?" repeated Prescott, in a shocked voice. "What on earth do you mean?"
"I don't like his nerve," asserted Reade. "Here he is, giving out as if it were fresh, news that I announced two hours ago."
Congressman Spokes was waiting in the anteroom to shake hands with the winners. He congratulated the candidates most heartily, and cautioned the alternates that they also must be alert, as one or both of them might yet have a chance to pass on over the heads of the principal candidates.