Once more it seemed indisputable to Prescott that his comrades
had wronged him. But once more his own sense of justice triumphed.

"I am not really at fault," he told himself, "nor is the class.
The class has acted on the best view of appearances that it could
obtain. I was wholly right in obeying the orders that I received
from Lieutenant Denton, and equally right in not communicating
those orders to a class committee. Nor could I refrain from reporting
Mr. Jordan for breach of con. That was my plain duty, more especially
as Mr. Jordan is a member of the company that I command. But the
appearances have been all against me, and I have refused to explain.
The class is hardly to be blamed for condemning me, and I imagine
that Mr. Jordan, in accusing me, has not been at all reticent.
Probably, too, he has taken no extreme pains to adhere to the
exact truth. I do not see how I can get out of the scrape in
which I find myself. I wonder if the silence is to be continued
until I am forced to resign and give up a career in the Army?"

With such thoughts as these it was hard, indeed, to look and act
as though nothing had happened.

But Cadet Jordan, taking eager, covert looks at his enemy from
another table, got little satisfaction from anything that he detected
in Prescott's face.

"Why, that b.j.(fresh) puppy is quite equal to cheeking his way on
through the last year and into the Army!" thought Jordan maliciously.
"However, he's done for! No matter if he sticks, he'll never get
any joy out of his shoulder straps."