Crafty Jordan didn't mean exactly what he said.

He would stop talking, if convinced, but he didn't intend to be
convinced. He was after Dick Prescott's scalp. Jordan well knew
that, at West Point (and at Annapolis, too, for that matter) class
action against a man is severer and more irrevocable than even
any action that the authorities of the Military Academy itself
can take. He wanted to put Prescott wholly in the wrong in the
matter. Class action could, at need, drive Prescott out of the
corps and end his connection with the Army. For, if a man be
condemned by his class at West Point, the feud is carried over
into the Army as long as the offender against class ethics dares
try to remain in the service.

At the least, Jordan hoped to stir up class feeling to such an
extent that, if Prescott were not actually "cut" by class action,
at least his popularity would be greatly dimmed.

"So won't you take part in the meeting?" coaxed Jordan, as Cadet
Stubbs moved toward the door.

"I don't believe I will," replied Mr. Stubbs. "I'd feel out of
place in such a crowd, for I've always considered myself Prescott's
friend."

"Do you place your friendship for Prescott above the dignity and
honor of the class?" demanded Jordan.

Stubbs flushed.