with sudden fierceness in his tone.

"What you've done?" echoed Dick. "Well, what have you gone and
done, anyway, old fellow? Does it stop anywhere short of
murder--or lying?"

For in the West Point code of honor lying ranks very nearly as bad
as murder.

"I guess perhaps it isn't quite as bad as either," smiled Greg wanly.
"However, I couldn't help doing it."

He rose to his feet, a bit unsteadily, leaning one hand on his study
desk.

Greg's hair was a bit awry, as though he had run his hands many
times through it in some mood of desperation. This, in itself, was
in defiance of West Point traditions for the personal neatness of
the cadet.

"You still have me altogether in the dark, Greg," murmured Dick
wonderingly.

"You'll lose all respect for me, Dick," went on Greg miserably.

"Then it must be something awfully bad that you've done," retorted
Dick, opening his eyes wider than ever.

Without another word Greg reached to his desk, picked up a sheet
of paper and in silence passed it over to his comrade.