"Hello, Grit old fellow!" exclaimed Dick, and the dog nearly dislocated his stump of a tail, so excited was he. Since rejoining his master he had picked up wonderfully. "I've got you for a friend, even if I haven't many others," said Dick, as he bent over to fondle the dog. As he did so he saw some marks on the animal's smooth, satin-like coat, that made him start.
"Grit, you've been fighting!" he exclaimed. "How did that happen?" He knew there were no other dogs near the academy with whom his pet would quarrel. He asked the stableman about it.
"Sure Grit's been in a fight," replied one of the hostlers. "I thought you matched him in a scrap wid a dorg in town. Grit won, anyhow. It was a couple a' nights ago."
"Matched him in a fight? Why, did some one—some of the cadets take Grit to town, and let him fight?"
"Thot's what they done, Muster Hamilton, an' they won a pot of money on him too, I understand."
"Who took him?" asked Dick, trying to speak calmly.
"Why, uts no secret. Muster Dutton an' Muster Stiver tuck him one night. Ut was a foin foight, I heard 'em say."
Dick started away, after chaining Grit up, a set look on his face.
"I'll have it out with Dutton," he said.