The plebes at West Point are not ostracized by the upper class
men. These new men are merely "kept in their places" with great
severity, and without any encouragement whatever. If the plebe
can't stand it, then he is plainly not of the stuff to make a
soldier. If he does stand it, he goes on into the upper classes,
one after another, graduates and is commissioned by the President
as a second lieutenant in the United States Army.

It is a hard ordeal, that fellowship of "nothingness" during the
first portion of the West Point course.

Homesickness is the worst ailment of the new cadet. Day by day
he grows more homesick until it seems to him that he simply
cannot endure the Military Academy for another twenty-four
hours.

One afternoon, while taking a walk as a relief from too hard
application to his mathematics, Cadet Dick Prescott stumbled
upon some news that made him open his eyes very wide.

"Well, of all things!" he growled to himself.

Then he walked faster.

"Greg must hear of this," muttered the new plebe.

Going down the street at military stride, Cadet Prescott turned in at
the north sally port, stepped briskly along one of the walks,
bounded up the steps and in at the outer door of the subdivision in
which he dwelt.