An important event had happened to that company that day, one that had made a great change in their lives. A month and a half of drill and discipline, the most rigorous possible, had been judged to have had its effect. And that day the plebes were honored by being put in the cadet battalion.
Previously they had “herded” alone, a separate roll call, separate drills, separate seats in mess hall. But now all was changed. The plebe company was broken up, the members each going to their own company in the battalion, to hear their names called with the others at roll call, to march down to meals and sit with them, too. And that afternoon for the first time the plebes were to march on parade, Mark and Texas under the command of Fischer, cadet-captain of Company A.
Concerning Fischer, the high and mighty first classman, it may be well to say a word, for he will figure prominently in this story. Fischer was a member of the first class, and its idol. Tall, handsome and athletic, he made an ideal captain; even the plebes thought that, and strange to say, our B. J. plebes most of all. For Fischer was a fair-minded, gentlemanly fellow and more than once he had interfered to see that Mallory got fair play with his enemies.
He came in that same afternoon to have a word with Mark as to the latest excitement; it was an unusual thing indeed for a cadet-captain even to speak to a plebe, but Fischer chose to be different. And, moreover, Mallory had earned for himself many privileges most plebes had never dreamed of.
“I got a letter from your friend, Wicks Merritt,” said Fischer. “His furlough is coming to an end. Poor Wicks is very much agitated for fear you’ll be hazed out of West Point before he gets here. But I told him there wasn’t much danger. I think you’ll stick.”
“I shall try,” laughed Mark, while Texas sat by in awe and gazed at the young officer’s chevrons and sash. “I shall try. Have you heard of my engagement—the latest?”
“Yes,” answered the other, “I have. That’s what I came in for. I don’t envy you.”
“I don’t myself,” said the plebe thoughtfully. “I don’t like to fight. I’d a thousand times rather not, and I always say ‘no’ when I can. But I’ve vowed I wouldn’t stand the kind of hazing I got, and I don’t mean to so long as I can see.”
“I wish you luck,” said Fischer. “I’ve told the men in my own class that, for I haven’t forgotten, as they seem to, the time you rescued that girl in the river.”
“Do you know who’ll be the first man I meet?” inquired the other, changing the subject.