Dick Hamilton's Cadet Days; Or, The Handicap of a Millionaire's Son Part 29

"What fort was that?"

"I've forgotten. It's a good while ago. But don't lose that medal, Mr.

Hamilton. I'm going to wear it."

"Poor Toots," thought d.i.c.k. "All the medals in the world will never make you a good shot."

He put the badge carefully away, resolving to ask Major Webster, at the first opportunity, from what military post it was likely to have come.

Thanks to the jolly companions.h.i.+p of Toots, Christmas was not as gloomy as d.i.c.k had feared it would be. The dinner over the janitor left d.i.c.k to himself, and our hero fell into a refres.h.i.+ng sleep. When he awoke he felt much better, and the doctor said he could be out in a couple of days, if the weather moderated.

The first of the year dawned; a fine bracing day, and, as there was no biting wind, d.i.c.k was allowed to stroll about the campus a short time.

This brought the color to his cheeks, and completed the cure begun by the surgeon's medicine.

"Well, things will be lively a week from to-night," said Toots one day, as he came in to make up d.i.c.k's room.

"Why?"

"The boys will be back then. Vacation will be over."

"I'm glad of it," commented d.i.c.k, and then, with pain in his heart, he wondered if the coming term would bring him more fellows.h.i.+p than had the preceding one.

Major Webster was among the first of the instructors to arrive, in antic.i.p.ation of the return of the students, and to him d.i.c.k showed the medal.

"Why, yes; that's one given out years ago, at Fort Laramie, Wyoming," he said. "I can send it to a friend of mine for you, if you like. Possibly they may be able to trace the illegible name from the fort records."

"I wish you would," said d.i.c.k. "Maybe I can get a trace of Captain Handlee's son for him."

"I doubt it," replied the major, shaking his head. "I tried all the sources of information I knew, and it was useless. Still you may have better luck."

The medal was sent off, but, fearing nothing would come of it, d.i.c.k did not say anything to Captain Handlee about it, though he wrote to the veteran in answer to a letter the old soldier sent him.

The holiday vacation came to a close, and, one morning d.i.c.k awoke to a realization that, on that day, the cadets would come pouring back.

It was nearly noon when the first of them arrived. Among them was Paul Drew.

"Well, how are you, old chap?" he cried, rus.h.i.+ng into d.i.c.k's room.

"Pretty good. How about you?"

"Oh, I had a dandy time, home. I almost hated to come back, but I wanted to see you, and then I know we'll have some sport this winter. Say, there are a lot of new fellows. We're not so fresh as we were. There are others. There's going to be hazing to-night, I understand. Thank fortune they won't bother me. I don't fancy cold water down my back on a winter night."

"Hazing, eh?" remarked d.i.c.k. And he wondered if his turn would come.

CHAPTER XX

d.i.c.k DOESN'T TELL

All the rest of that day cadets continued to arrive at Kentfield Academy, and there were lively scenes on the snow-covered campus, in the a.s.sembly auditoriums, students' rooms, and in the mess hall.

Several new cadets stood about, looking rather miserable, d.i.c.k thought, and he spoke to some of them, telling them where to report, and what to do, for he appreciated what it meant to be a stranger among a lot of lads who ignored new-comers, not because they were heartless so much as that they were thoughtless.

d.i.c.k rather hoped Dutton would not return, but that cadet was among the first he encountered as he strolled over the white campus.

Dutton nodded coolly, and d.i.c.k as coolly acknowledged the bow. Then Dutton saw a freshman standing near the saluting cannon. It was one of the unwritten rules of the school that none below the grade of soph.o.m.ores might stand near the cannon.

"Here, fres.h.!.+" cried Dutton roughly, "stand away from that gun!"

The lad, a small chap, did not seem to comprehend.

d.i.c.k put in a word.

"You can't stand near there until you're a second year," he told the lad. "It's a school rule, that's all."

"I say, Hamilton, I guess I can manage my own affairs," said Dutton, angrily. "You mind your own business; will you?"

"I guess I've got as much right to speak as you have," said d.i.c.k hotly.

"I was only telling him what to do."

The freshman looked from one to the other. Quite a group had gathered by this time, attracted by Dutton's loud voice. The new lad moved a short distance away from the gun.

"Don't you know enough to mind when you're spoken to?" demanded Dutton, advancing toward him. "I'll teach you manners, you young cub! Why don't you salute when an officer speaks to you? Now get back," and, with that he gave the lad such a shove that he went over backward into a snow bank, made by shoveling the white crystals away from the gun.

"That's not right, Dutton!" exclaimed d.i.c.k.

"You mind your own affairs, or I'll do the same to you, Hamilton,"

retorted the bully.

"You'd better try it," said d.i.c.k quietly. "If you want to fight with me, you know what to do. Just lay a finger on me."

He took a step toward his enemy, and stood waiting for him. But Dutton knew better than to attack d.i.c.k. He had felt the weight of his fists once, and he knew he had no chance in a fair fight.

So he strode away, muttering to the lad whom he had knocked down:

"You keep away from this gun, after this, fresh."

d.i.c.k did not think it wise to say anything further on the side of the mistreated one. Already he saw some unpleasant looks directed toward him by Dutton's friends, and he realized that by interfering in what was considered one of the rights of upper cla.s.smen, to a.s.sume a bullying att.i.tude toward those in the lower grades, he was not adding to his popularity. I am glad to say that such characters as Dutton were in the small majority at Kentfield, and that though some of his cronies applauded his action in knocking the newcomer down, most of the lads were not in sympathy with the bully.

But there were so many things occurring, so many cadets arriving, some of whom wanted to change their apartments, to get new roommates, or be quartered in other sections of the barracks, that all was in seeming confusion.

Colonel Masterly and his aides, however, had matters well in hand, and by night, when the cadets lined up for the march to mess, affairs were in some sort of order.

"Do you want to make a s.h.i.+ft, Paul?" asked d.i.c.k, as they went to their room early that evening.

"A s.h.i.+ft? What do you mean?"