"Oh—there's nothing to forgive," said Dick.
"Yes, there is," said Dutton huskily. "I've treated you—I've been a cad, that's what I have! I didn't like you at first—I thought you were proud of your millions. I didn't like the idea of you being here—I was jealous, I guess. I wanted to make you quit. It was I who tied your dog to the saluting gun, and tried to throw the blame on you. I've done other mean things. I—I——"
"Forget it!" said Dick so heartily that the other cadets laughed, and thus broke what was becoming quite a strain.
Major Webster, when he heard the beginning of Dutton's confession, walked away. He was a wise old soldier, and he knew that the lads could best settle those things among themselves.
"And you don't bear me any grudge?" asked Dutton, after a pause.
"Not a bit. But you'd better get back to the hospital and have your ankle looked after," for Dutton was limping.
"Oh, that isn't anything. It might just as well have been my head. But, say, you got a nasty dig."
"Only a scratch," replied Dick with a happy laugh. He would have welcomed another one if it could have insured him such an outcome as had followed this.
"I guess we'd better take you both to the hospital," said Butler, who had ridden up, fearful lest he had seriously injured Dick.
And thither the two wounded cadets were taken, though their stay there was brief.