"Victory! Victory!" he shouted. "Wow!"
And by breakfast time that morning every cadet in the corps was discussing the fight. And Mark was the hero of the whole plebe class.
CHAPTER XV.
TWO PLEBES IN HOSPITAL.
"Say, tell me, did you do him?"
The speaker was a lad with brown, curly hair and a laughing, merry face, at present, however, half covered with a swathing of bandages. He was standing on the steps of the hospital building at West Point, and regarding with anxiety another lad of about the same age, but taller and more sturdily built.
"I don't know that I did him," responded Mark—for the one addressed was he—"I don't know that I can say I did him, but I believe I would have if the fight hadn't been interrupted."
"Bully, b'gee!" cried the other, excitedly slapping his knee and wincing with pain afterward. "Gimme your hand! I'm proud of you, b'gee! My name's Alan Dewey, at your service."
Mark took the proffered hand, smiling at the stranger's joy.
"My success seems to cause you considerable pleasure," he said.