CHAPTER XVIII. THE PLEBE CLASS CHOOSES ITS PRESIDENT
CHAPTER XIX. THE PROWLER IN QUARTERS
CHAPTER XX. CONCLUSION

DICK PRESCOTT'S FIRST YEAR AT WEST POINT




CHAPTER I

"TWO TINY SPECKS OF NOTHING"


"How do you feel, Dick! As spruce as you did an hour ago!"

Candidate Greg Holmes put the question with a half-nervous
laugh. He spoke in a whisper, too, as if to keep his agitation from
reaching the notice of any of the score or more of other young men
in the room of Mr. Ward, the aged notary at West Point.

"I'll be glad when I see some daylight through the proceedings,"
Dick Prescott whispered in answer.

"I'm glad they allow us to talk here in undertones," pursued Greg.

"If we weren't allowed to do so, some of us would go suddenly
crazy, utter a whoop and spring through one of the windows,"
grinned Dick.