"He'll fight you to-morrow—Fort Clinton, at four, and if you don't come, by thunder! he'll find out why."
Mark's face grew white, but he only bowed again, and swallowed it. And just then came an unexpected interruption.
"Mr. Mallory, as the challenged party, has the right to name the time."
The voice was loud and clear, and seemed to have authority; Harris turned and confronted Cadet First Captain Fischer, in all his glory of chevrons and sword. Now, the first captain is lord of West Point—and Harris didn't dare to say a word, though he was boiling within.
"And, moreover," continued the imposing young officer, angrily, "you should remember that you came, Mr. Harris, as a gentleman and not as a combatant. Mr. Mallory, what is your wish?"
"The time suits me," said Mark, quietly. "Good-day, Mr. Harris."
And Harris left in a very unpleasant mood indeed; he had meant to have no end of amusement at the expense of Mark's feelings.
"You've a hard row to hoe," said the cadet officer to Mark, "and a hard man to beat. And you were foolish to get into it, but, all the same, I'll see that you have fair play."
"And that," exclaimed Texas to Mark, as he watched the tall, erect figure of the cadet vanish through the sally port. "That is the first decent word I've heard from a cadet since I've been here. Bully for Fischer!"
"It's probable," said Mark, "that he knows Harris as well as we. And now, old fellow," he added, "we've got nothing to do but pass time, and wait—and wait for to-morrow morning!"