TOM AND HIS FELLOW RIDERS WOULD RAISE THEIR SABERS HIGH IN THE AIR AND YELL.
Tom Taylor at West Point.[Page 202].

TOM TAYLOR
AT WEST POINT

Or
The Old Army Officer’s Secret

BY
FRANK V. WEBSTER
AUTHOR OF “ONLY A FARM BOY,” “BOB THE CASTAWAY,” “AIRSHIP ANDY,” “DARRY, THE LIFE-SAVER,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

BOOKS FOR BOYS

BY FRANK V. WEBSTER

12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.

ONLY A FARM BOY

TOM, THE TELEPHONE BOY

THE BOY FROM THE RANCH

THE YOUNG TREASURE HUNTER

BOB, THE CASTAWAY

THE YOUNG FIREMEN OF LAKEVILLE

THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS

THE BOY PILOT OF THE LAKES

THE TWO BOY GOLD MINERS

JACK, THE RUNAWAY

COMRADES OF THE SADDLE

THE BOYS OF BELLWOOD SCHOOL

THE HIGH SCHOOL RIVALS

BOB CHESTER’S GRIT

AIRSHIP ANDY

DARRY, THE LIFE SAVER

DICK, THE BANK BOY

BEN HARDY’S FLYING MACHINE

THE BOYS OF THE WIRELESS

HARRY WATSON’S HIGH SCHOOL DAYS

THE BOY SCOUTS OF LENOX

TOM TAYLOR AT WEST POINT

COWBOY DAVE

THE BOYS OF THE BATTLESHIP

JACK OF THE PONY EXPRESS

Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York

Copyright, 1915, by
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

TOM TAYLOR AT WEST POINT

Printed in U. S. A.

CONTENTS

TOM TAYLOR AT WEST POINT

CHAPTER I
WONDERFUL NEWS

Tom Taylor, a well set up, pleasant-faced lad of about sixteen, came marching up the path that led from the street to the front door of the cottage. Tom was whistling a cheerful air; no—one moment—the tune was cheerful enough, but Tom Taylor was whistling it in anything but a gay manner.

Something in the way that he trilled out the notes must have impressed his mother, for she looked up quickly, and out of the open window near which she was sewing.

“Why, Tom!” she exclaimed, “you’re home early; aren’t you? I hope——”

There was an anxious note in her voice, and an extra trace of worry showed in her face, already lined with marks of care.

“Yes, I am home a bit early, Mother. I’m taking a sort of vacation you see. Came home to get you to go for a walk. It’s too soon for supper. Come on, we’ll walk over to the woods,” and once again Tom tried to put some gaiety into the tune he was whistling.

Mrs. Taylor shook her head.

“That isn’t the reason you came home so early, Tom,” she said, gently. “I know something has happened. Tell me!”

“It isn’t anything at all, Mother, really! Come on, we’ll go for a little walk, and then, when we come back, I’ll help you get supper. Come along.”

Again Mrs. Taylor shook her head.

“I’d like to come with you, Tom, you know that,” she said, “but I must finish this dress. Mrs. Leighton wants it to wear to-morrow, and if it isn’t done I’ll not get paid for it, and you know the interest is soon due. We must meet that.”

“Yes, I know,” and a frown passed over the lad’s face. “I wonder who invented interest, anyhow. It always comes at such an inconvenient time. Well, here’s something toward it, Mother,” and he took from his pocket a few bills and some change in silver.

“Oh, Tom! To-night isn’t pay night!” his mother exclaimed.

“It was—for me,” he said, and this time he smiled, for he saw a look of alarm, and almost of fear, come over his mother’s face, and he wanted to be as reassuring as possible.

“Why, Tom—Tom! if Mr. Blackford paid you, then——”

“Then it’s pretty good evidence, Mother, that I earned the money!” finished Tom with a laugh. “You don’t often catch Mr. Blackford paying for something he hasn’t had. I certainly earned this!”

Tom sighed in memory of the long hours of hard work he had given in exchange for that small amount of money.

“But why should he pay you ahead of time, Tom?”

“Because, Mother, there isn’t going to be any more time for me at Mr. Blackford’s store—that is not right away. I’m through—paid off, as it were.”

“Oh, Tom! I hope you didn’t have a quarrel with him!”

“Not in the least, Mother. It was a plain business proposition. He said he couldn’t afford to hire me after school any more to do some of his errands, and help straighten out the stock. So he paid me what he owed me, and here I am.

“I quit an hour earlier, you see, though I didn’t lose anything by it, and I thought maybe you’d come for a walk.”

“I’d like to, Tom, but really I must finish this dress. Oh, I’m so sorry Mr. Blackford couldn’t keep you.”

“So am I, Mother, particularly as we need the money. But I think I can find something else to do. Business is picking up a little. I’m going to be on the lookout. Something is sure to turn up. And I do hope it will be something worth while, so I can, by some means or other, get enough ahead to go to West Point.”

“You haven’t forgotten your ambition I see, Tom,” said his mother, as she vigorously plied her needle, taking advantage of the last hours of daylight.

“Forgotten it, Mother? Indeed I haven’t! I never shall. I intend to go to West Point, and become an army officer.”

Tom straightened himself up as he said this, as though he had heard the command:

“Attention!”

But the only sound that came to the ears of his mother and himself was the distant hum and roar of the little city, on the outskirts of which they lived.

Mrs. Taylor sighed. Tom was folding the bills into a neat little package, enclosing within the silver coins. It was a small sum, but it represented much to him and his widowed mother.

“I don’t like to think of you being a soldier, Tom,” said Mrs. Taylor, as she stopped to thread a needle.

“Well, I guess there isn’t very much danger,” Tom laughed. “There aren’t, at present, any vacancies from this congressional district so I understand, and the appointments at large have all been filled. And even if there was a chance for me to get in, I couldn’t do it I guess. It takes about a hundred dollars to start with, but, of course, after that Uncle Sam looks out for you. But I sure would like to go!”

Tom’s eyes sparkled, and again he half unconsciously straightened up, as stiff as the proverbial ramrod.

“I wish you could have your wish, Tom,” his mother said, softly; “but I can’t bear to think of war. It is so cruel!”

“Oh, just because I want to go to West Point, and become an army officer, doesn’t mean there’ll be war, Mother. In fact, war is ceasing to be the custom. But the best way not to have a war, is to be in the finest possible shape to meet it if it does come.”

“I can’t bear to think of it, Tom. The shooting—the killing! Oh, it’s terrible!”

“But the United States Army does a lot of things besides shooting and killing,” Tom said. “Look at the officers and men—see what they’ve done in the Panama Canal zone. Why, in spite of the fact that they’re trained in the arts of war, they have, of late, been using their special knowledge in the interests of peace. I certainly would give anything for the chance to go to West Point. But there! No use thinking about it!”

Tom seemed to blow the matter away as though it were some trifle, light as air, and he assumed a manner of indifference that he did not altogether feel.

“Come on, Mother,” he begged, tossing the money into her lap through the open window. “Take a half-hour off. You’ll be all the better for it. You haven’t been eating well lately. A walk to the woods will give you an appetite.”

“I believe I will go with you, Tom,” she said, with sudden decision. “I can finish this dress after supper, but it must be delivered, and——”

“I’ll take it over,” said the lad. “I haven’t many lessons to-night.”

A little later mother and son were walking across the field that lay between their cottage and a little patch of wood in the cool and shady depths of which they were wont often to stroll.

Mrs. Taylor was the widow of Charles Taylor, who was once well-to-do. He had lost his fortune in unfortunate speculation, however, and the shock and disappointment of this, coupled with a not too strong constitution, caused his death when Tom was about twelve years old.

From the wreck of her husband’s estate Mrs. Taylor received a small income, and she and Tom, moving from the well-appointed house in the best residential section of the small city of Chester, took up their abode in a small cottage, once owned by Mr. Taylor, but now mortgaged to a Mr. Aaron Doolittle, who had, in some unexplained manner, become possessed of much of Mr. Taylor’s former property.

The crash resulting in the sweeping away of the money, and the death of her husband, had almost stunned the young widow. But she rallied, and bravely took up the battle of life.

Mrs. Taylor was an expert needlewoman, and some of her former friends kept her well supplied with work. She managed, with a small income from some investments her husband had made before the crash, to keep Tom at his studies, and, eventually, he went to the high school, where he was in attendance when our story opens.

It did not take Tom long to realize that he was every day becoming more and more of an expense to his widowed mother. His clothes never seemed to wear very well. There were certain books and other materials to buy, that he might keep up his school work. And his appetite was not a small one.

He saw the need of more money, and resolved to earn it himself after school hours. He secured a place in the grocery of Mr. Blackford, and by delivering orders, helping to keep the stock in order, and doing the hundred and one things that always can be done about a grocery, he managed to add a few dollars to the weekly income.

But now, owing, as Mr. Blackford had alleged, to a desire on his part to save money, he had told Tom his services would no longer be required.

“Though I’ll wager he’s found some one who will do it more cheaply than I did,” declared Tom. “Well, he won’t get any one to do it any better, that’s sure. I’m going to see Wendell to-morrow, after school. He may need a boy in his store.”

“Oh, Tom, they say he’s mean and cruel. No one likes to work for him,” objected Mrs. Taylor.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” replied the lad, laughing. “I don’t mind hard work. I’d have to work hard if I went to West Point.”

His mother smiled. She did wish her fine-looking son could have his wish, but it seemed out of the question. In silence the two strolled on through the wood, to the far edge.

There, standing amid the trees, they could look across a narrow valley to where a railroad embankment wound its way along the shore of a small river. In the distance could be seen a large bridge, and, crossing the river on this, the S. & C. V. Railroad entered the village of Preston.

The railway only touched the outskirts of Chester, but the line was near the center of Preston, which acquired importance from the fact that the county court house was located there.

“Well, if we had some of the money that was sunk around the piers of that bridge,” said Tom reflectively, “our worries would be over, Mother!”

“Yes,” she agreed, as Tom waved his hand toward the railroad structure, “but there’s no use talking or thinking about that, Tom. It’s past and gone, and the money has disappeared.”

“It disappeared all right enough,” and Tom’s tone was the least bit menacing. “But I’m not so sure that it disappeared fairly and honestly. If it had sunk in a bed of quicksand it couldn’t have vanished any more completely. But between old Doolittle, the railroad lawyers and some others—”

“Oh, Tom, please don’t bring up that old dispute!” begged his mother. “You know it can’t do any good.”

“No, I suppose not,” he admitted. “But it certainly is hard luck to look at what you think ought to be yours, and know that some one else is enjoying the benefit of it,” and Tom shook his finger at the big railroad bridge, as if that structure of steel were, in some way, responsible for the unpleasant circumstances of his mother and himself.

The railroad bridge, or, rather, one of the ends and the approach, was located on land that had formed a part of Mr. Taylor’s estate. The land had always been considered valuable, and when the railroad went through the value of that property, as well as of other land near it, rose rapidly.

Then came Mr. Taylor’s death, and his widow, instead of receiving what she hoped for—a large sum from the sale of the bridge site to the railway people—received nothing at all. Inquiry developed the fact that certain creditors of Mr. Taylor’s, including a Mr. Aaron Doolittle and a Captain Cason Hawkesbury, held a claim on the bridge land, and they received the money for it from the railroad.

But, as Mrs. Taylor said, that was past and gone, though Tom could not forget it. There was always resentment in his heart, for he believed his mother should have received something for her rights. But they were not able to hire competent lawyers, and the young member of the bar who wound up the affairs of Mr. Taylor’s estate did not seem to think there was a chance of getting anything by litigation over the bridge property.

“We must go back, Tom,” said his mother finally. “I’ve enjoyed the little walk, and I feel better for it. But I must get that dress done, and I’m sure you are hungry.”

“Well, I don’t mind admitting that I am,” he said, with a final look at the bridge, over which, at that moment, an express train was rumbling.

“Going right over our property as if it had a right!” grumbled Tom.

“But they have a right, son,” his mother said gently. “Don’t brood over that any more.”

Tom might have done so, in spite of her request, but for something that happened shortly after that. They were walking down the side street toward their cottage, when a boy with a bundle of papers under his arm, came along.

“Will you take yours now, Mrs. Taylor, or shall I leave it at the house?” he asked, touching his cap and smiling.

“I’ll take it,” said Tom. “I forgot the Banner came out to-day. Wonder if they have a good account of our baseball game.”

The Banner was the weekly paper issued in Chester, and Mrs. Taylor subscribed to it. Tom took the sheet from the delivery boy, and rapidly scanned the front page.

“Yes,” he said, “here’s a big account of the game. And here—Say, Mother! Look here!” he exclaimed, holding the paper up in front of her, and pointing out a certain item. “There’s going to be a competitive examination for a West Point cadetship! It’s going to take place in Preston in two weeks. It’s open to all the lads around here. Congressman Hutton has an appointment to make, and he’s going to let it go to the fellow who gets the best standing.

“Say, this is great! Wonderful! Mother, I’m going to have a try for that! A vacancy has unexpectedly occurred, it says. It’s my chance, Mother! It’s my chance!”

CHAPTER II
THE EXAMINATION

Tom Taylor was really quite excited. He strode along the street quickly, fluttering the paper containing the wonderful news, until finally Mrs. Taylor was obliged to call out:

“Tom, dear! You seem to forget that I haven’t my seven-league boots on. I can’t keep up with you,” and she laughed, though there was a worried look in her eyes.

“That’s so, Mother! I beg your pardon,” Tom said. “I forgot about everything except this chance. Say! it’s great; isn’t it?” and he looked at his mother with shining eyes.

“Are you really going to attempt it?” she asked softly.

“Why, yes, of course,” Tom said, quickly. “Why not?”

“Do you think you can pass, Tom?”

“Well, I’m not absolutely sure of it, of course. No one is. But I think I can pass the preliminary physical test, and that will admit me to the written examination. I’ve been making some inquiries about that, and there isn’t any subject that we haven’t had in our high school work. I may be a bit rusty on certain things, but I’m going to bone up on them. I’ve got a week or more.”

“And if you pass this examination that is to be held at Preston, does that mean you’ll become a cadet?” asked his mother.

“No, it doesn’t, worse luck!” Tom exclaimed, with a rueful laugh. “But if I come out ahead in this preliminary examination, and get the appointment from Congressman Hutton, it means that I have a chance to go to West Point, and have a try there. And there’s where it will be pretty stiff, I imagine.”

“Oh, Tom, I—I hope you get it,” his mother murmured.

“Ho, ho! Thought you didn’t want to see me in the army?”

“Well, I don’t want to see you go to war,” his mother said gently. “But if it is your ambition to become a West Pointer, and if, as you say, there is a chance to do good work outside of shooting and killing, why, I shall not oppose you. Now let’s hurry home. I must get the dress finished, West Point or not,” and she smiled.

Tom walked beside her, reading over and over again the notice of the examination soon to be held. In brief it was a statement from the congressman of that district to the effect, that, as he had a chance to name a youth to go to West Point, he had decided to throw the chance open to all the eligible lads of his district. They were to report at the Preston Court House on a certain day.

“And I’ll be there!” exclaimed Tom. “But I say though—hold on. There’s something I almost forgot!” and a shade of annoyance passed over his face.

“What is it, Tom?” asked his mother, as they neared the cottage.

“I have to have a hundred dollars, Mother.”

“A hundred dollars, Tom! What for?”

“To deposit at West Point,—that is if I get the permanent appointment,” he explained. “It’s a sort of guarantee to cover preliminary cost of equipment, and so on. I almost forgot that. A hundred dollars! It’s a pile of money!”

“But you don’t need it right away; do you?”

“No, not until June, when I’ll have to report at the Military Academy in case I’m successful. But—”

“Well, don’t worry about that part of it—at least not now,” said his mother. “When the time comes I may find a way to get it. I don’t want to see you lose this chance. Don’t worry about the money or it may spoil your chances for passing the examination. I dare say I shall manage somehow.”

“Oh, if you only can, Mother!” and, even though they were out in the street, Tom put his arms around her and kissed her.

“Oh, Tom!” she remonstrated.

“Don’t you care!” he cried, gaily. “Nobody saw us, and I don’t mind in the least if they did.”

Supper was rather an excited meal, and Tom fairly ran home with the dress his mother finished. He was paid, and as he carried back the money he thought:

“It’s a shame I can’t make more myself. I don’t like the idea of taking the money mother earns with her needle to go to West Point with. I sure do want to go, though!”

“But I’ll make good!” he declared to himself, “and when I do, and when I’m earning a decent salary, I’ll make it all up to mother. She can live with me in barracks, perhaps, and I’ll be an engineer in charge of some big work. Say, it sure will be great!”

His mind filled with such rosy dreams of the future as these, Tom hurried around a corner, and ran full tilt into a man advancing from the opposite direction. So hard was the impact that Tom would have knocked down the man but that he caught hold of him and held him up.

“I beg your pardon!” Tom exclaimed.

“Hey! Heck! Huh—! Huh—! Ahem! Ah!” the man ejaculated, trying to recover the breath that had been driven from his body. “What do you mean by running into me like that, young man? What do you mean?”

“I beg your pardon—Oh, it’s Mr. Doolittle!” Tom exclaimed. “I didn’t see you and—”

“Well, you’d better look where you’re goin’ next time!” was the snappish response. “Oh, it’s you, is it?” and he seemed for the first time to recognize Tom. “Might have known,” he muttered. “Nobody else would be rushin’ around corners like that but you!”

“I hope you’re not hurt, Mr. Doolittle!” Tom ventured to say, as he picked up the hat of the man who had succeeded to most of Mr. Taylor’s property.

“Hurt? Huh! More by good luck than your efforts if I’m not!” was grunted out. “Is my hat dented?”

“No, it doesn’t seem to be hurt a bit,” Tom said, as cheerfully as he could. He brushed it off, and Mr. Doolittle placed it on his head.

“Um! Humph!” was all the answer Tom received, and then, muttering to himself, the man who was counted one of the wealthiest in Chester passed on in the darkness.

“Hope he doesn’t tack on an extra charge for interest just because I ran into him,” thought Tom, as he kept on. He said nothing to his mother of the encounter as he handed her the money he had brought home for the dress.

When Tom went to school next day he discovered that a number of his classmates had seen the notice about the competitive examination to be held for the West Point cadetship, and several announced their intention to try it. At the suggestion of one of them they decided to learn the line of questioning that would be followed, and to study up on those subjects specially. The school principal heard of their intentions and kindly offered to coach them, which offer was gratefully accepted.

Then began busy days for Tom Taylor. He was well up in his studies, and he had little to fear regarding the physical examination, but there was always the haunting fear lest something should happen. So he studied early and late until the day set for the taking of the examination.

Tom arose early that morning, and with a last final look at his books, and with a kiss from his mother, he set off to take the trolley to Preston. He met several of his chums on the same errand.

The examinations would take all of one day and part of the next, and some of those, who came from a distance, had to stop at the Preston Hotel. But Tom could go home at night.

On reaching the court house, where the examinations were to be conducted, Tom found a number of other lads there. Most of them were strangers to him, coming from distant parts of the congressional district.

Congressman Hutton was on hand, personally to direct matters, and three physicians were in attendance to conduct the physical examination. To Tom’s delight he went through this successfully, as he had expected. But some of the boys were rejected, and with tears of regret in their eyes they went back home.

Tom came from the room where he had been thumped, pounded, made to read cards at varying distances to test his eyesight, and had had his heart listened to after jumping violently up and down.

“You’ll do, young man,” the chief physician had said gruffly. “Get your clothes on.”

Tom’s heart beat high with hope. As he was going out to join the other candidates, some successful thus far, and some not, Tom saw a young man, flashily dressed, standing near a window, smoking a cigarette.

“Better cut that out if you’re going in for the exam,” suggested a lad near the smoker.

“Oh, I’m not worrying,” was the sneering retort. “They can’t turn me down.”

The speaker turned, and Tom saw that he was Clarence Hawkesbury, the nephew of Captain Hawkesbury, who had come into possession of so much of Mr. Taylor’s property. Clarence looked at Tom and bowed coldly. They had known each other for some time, but Tom did not care for Clarence, and his “sporty” ways, and certainly young Hawkesbury had no liking for Tom.

“Well, if you got through I’m sure I can,” Clarence said sneeringly to our hero as he passed. “I’m going to get this appointment!” he added.

“If you do you’ll have to beat me!” thought Tom, grimly.

CHAPTER III
ANXIOUS DAYS

Tom realized that this first preliminary mental examination was, in a way, not so important as would be the one he must undergo later at West Point, should he be successful in receiving the appointment. But still he knew he must do his best, for there were a number of lads competing, all as anxious as he was to receive the coveted honor.

As a matter of fact Tom was a little fearful of Clarence. Though the nephew of Captain Hawkesbury was, or wanted to be considered, a “sport,” still he was a brilliant student when he took a little pains. The trouble with him was that he would do only the minimum amount of study at the high school, and in consequence did not stand high.

But it was evident that he had done some extra preparation for this test, and, as Tom learned afterward, Clarence had, on the suggestion of his uncle, engaged a private tutor. In addition Captain Hawkesbury, who was an old army officer, knew in a general way what sort of questions would be asked, and he (so Clarence boasted) had been giving the nephew “points.”

Captain Hawkesbury was very fond of his rather careless nephew in a certain way. The lad was the son of an only brother of the captain’s, and both of Clarence’s parents had died when he was a small boy. Perhaps this accounted, in a measure, for his slack ways, his wastefulness with money, and his love for fast companions.

“But it won’t do to think he can’t beat me,” Tom reasoned. “I’ve just got to do my best to stand far ahead of him.”

A room in the court house had been set aside for the candidates, and several local high school teachers were on hand, working in connection with the congressman, to see that matters went off properly.

The boys were seated at tables, well separated, and the rules governing the examination explained to them. Then with pencil and paper, and with the list of questions before them, they set to work.

A hasty glance on the part of Tom showed him that the history examination, which was the first, was comparatively easy. He had always been fond of the study, and had a natural aptitude for remembering names and the dates of important events. There was only one question of which he was not quite certain, but he realized that the missing of one would not seriously pull down his average.

He looked around at the other boys, some of whom were writing away bravely, while others were hopelessly, or helplessly, biting the ends of their pencils, or else staring up at the ceiling as if to draw inspiration from that.

Clarence Hawkesbury was seated in front of Tom, and in the next aisle. As our hero was on his last question, having temporarily passed the one about which he was in doubt, Tom saw Clarence working with his right hand partly up the left sleeve of his coat. It was as if the captain’s nephew was trying to pull down a wrinkled part of his shirt that annoyed him.

Tom watched, rather idly, and saw Clarence glance quickly around the room. What he saw, or, rather, what he did not see, appeared to be satisfactory, for the lad took from the sleeve of his coat a small folded paper. He glanced at it quickly and then let go of it.

To Tom’s surprise the paper quickly disappeared up the sleeve again, with a snapping motion that could leave but one inference.

“He’s got some answers written down on a paper, and it’s fastened to a rubber band up his sleeve,” decided Tom. “He can pull it down, and, when he lets go of it, the paper snaps back up his sleeve again. It’s a sharp trick all right.”

It was evident that Clarence had received from his concealed paper the information he lacked, for he at once began writing rapidly.

“The sneak!” mused Tom. “I can’t tell on him, of course, but if he passes this exam, and I don’t—!”

Tom shrugged his shoulders. There was nothing he could do.

Tom turned in his paper, and, a little later, Clarence did the same. The arrogant youth wore a confident air, and winked his eye at Tom.

The arithmetic and algebra tests were more difficult, but Tom was pretty sure he had passed, especially in the former. There was one problem in the binomial theorem that appalled him for a time. But he set his mind to it, and worked it out in a manner he felt sure was right.

Once again he saw Clarence surreptitiously refer to a paper which he pulled down from his sleeve. It was a risky proceeding, as the high school instructors were walking about the room, looking for any such cheating. But luck (if one can call it luck) favored Clarence. The instructor assigned to his section of the room was rather elderly and near-sighted, and Clarence was not caught.

“Of course I’m not sure he’s using a pony,” thought Tom, “but it certainly does look so.”

During the noon recess, when the boys were allowed to get some lunch, there were all sorts of excited talk about the examinations of the morning. Some declared them “easy,” and others expressed the opinion that they were “stiff.” Some of the lads, hastily eating a sandwich, began studying feverishly, in anticipation of the afternoon ordeal. Tom decided that he would be better off if he freshened his mind with a walk, for he felt he had done all the studying he could manage with profit, and he reasoned that the hardest part of the ordeal was over.

Two studies formed the basis for examination in the afternoon, and two were set down for the following morning. Tom finished about four o’clock, being one of the first to hand in his papers, and he started to take the trolley back to Chester.

“Think you passed, Tom?” asked a fellow high school student, who came along a little later.

“Well, I sure hope so!” Tom answered. “What did you think of it all?”

“Some wasn’t as bad as I was afraid it would be, and part of it was worse. I’m worried about my algebra.”

“I didn’t think that was so hard, except that one problem. But I managed to make mine prove, though maybe they won’t pass my method.”

“You’re lucky, Tom!” returned his companion.

Tom was not so sure about that.

“Wait until I see if I get the appointment,” he thought.

Mrs. Taylor was anxiously waiting for her son, and inquired as to how the examination had gone. Of course Tom could tell nothing definite, but he and his mother indulged in high hopes. Mrs. Taylor really wanted Tom to go to West Point, since he had so set his heart on it. She felt that, somehow, she would raise the necessary hundred dollars for deposit, even if she had to sell some of the small amount in securities that she kept against the proverbial rainy day.

Tom was up early next morning, and again made the trip to Preston. Some of the boys who had been there the day before were not now on hand. It was whispered that one of them had been caught cheating in getting information from a fellow competitor. Both had been barred.

“I wonder if one of them was Clarence?” mused Tom, as he heard this talk going around before the hour set for the final tests.

But when the doors were being closed Clarence came in, tossing aside the butt of a cigarette.

“Here comes the sport,” some one murmured. Clarence heard it, and looked up, obviously not ill-pleased.

This examination was more difficult than Tom had anticipated, and he worked hard over the list of questions. So did most of the other boys, though a few “took it easy.” But perhaps they recognized the fact that they had no chance, and so did not worry. Clarence seemed to be writing diligently.

“He’s evidently going into this for all he’s worth,” thought Tom. “Well, so am I, for that matter.”

It was something of a nervous strain, and Tom was glad when it was over and he could hand in his papers and go home.

Then came days of anxious waiting—days in which Tom and his mother discussed the possibilities of the case from all angles. Had Tom passed with a high enough average, enough higher than that of the other candidates, to secure the appointment?

There could be but one lad named, with another as alternate, who, in case the first one failed in the tests to be conducted at West Point, would be named for the coveted honor.

Tom dreaded to hear the sound of the postman’s whistle. But for nearly a week there was no word. Then when Tom felt, in his desperation, as though he would simply have to telephone to the congressman, and learn what had been the outcome, there came, addressed to him, a long legal-looking envelope. In the upper left-hand corner was the imprint of the congressman’s name. It had come from his private law office in Preston.

Tom’s fingers trembled, and his heart beat with a smothery, choking sensation. Had he passed? Would he receive the appointment?

Slowly he tore open the envelope.

CHAPTER IV
SUCCESS

There was a blur before Tom’s eyes; a blur that made the letters and words on the paper in front of him seem misty and far away. He caught his breath sharply. He remembered that his mother was watching him eagerly—anxiously.

“I won’t show the white feather before her, no matter what happens,” he told himself, fiercely. “If I’ve failed—”

He pulled himself together with an effort. After all, he did not yet know that he had failed. He brushed his hand across his eyes, and the blur vanished. He caught sight of one word—“congratulations.”

That could mean but one thing. He must have passed! Quickly he read enough of the letter from the congressman to gather its import.

It was true. Tom had passed the preliminary examination with the highest mark!

“Hurrah, Mother!” Tom cried. “It’s all right! I’ve passed! I’ve won out, Mr. Hutton says! I got the highest marks of any in the examination, and he’s sent my name as his nominee for West Point to the Secretary of War. Think of that! To the Secretary of War!”

“Oh, I hope there’ll be no war!” murmured Mrs. Taylor.

“Don’t worry about that part of it, mother!” Tom cried. “Just think of it! I’m going to be a West Point cadet. That is, if I pass the rest of the examinations,” he added more soberly.

“Are there more?” asked Mrs. Taylor.

“Oh, yes,” Tom replied. “I’ll have to answer a lot more questions, and stiffer ones than those they put to us at Preston. I’ll have to go before the doctors, too. But I’m not worrying about that. I’ll have some time before the middle of June, when I have to take the final entrance examinations, and I’ll bone up in the meanwhile. Say, Mother, this is great!” cried Tom, with shining eyes. “Simply great!”

“I’m glad you have succeeded so far, Tom,” said his mother in a low voice. “But it will mean a great deal to me to have you away. Still, I suppose you can come home often. West Point isn’t very far off.”

Tom was silent a moment. His face grew sober.

“No, Mother,” he said, slowly, “I’m afraid I’ll not be able to get back to see you very often if I go to West Point. Cadets are allowed only one furlough in the four years. That is, unless something extraordinary happens. I can come home after I’ve been there two years, but not before.”

“Oh, Tom!”

“But you can come to see me,” he added, quickly, for he felt a pang himself at the thought of the long separation.

There were tears in Mrs. Taylor’s eyes as she said, softly:

“Oh, Tom, I almost wish you hadn’t passed!”

He looked at her blankly.

“That is, I don’t want to lose you,” she went on. “But if you have your heart set on it, I suppose it is all for the best. You can’t remain my little boy forever.”

Tom felt a lump coming up into his throat, but his mother, seeing which way matters were going smiled as she said:

“There, Tom! we mustn’t be sad when there’s so much cause for rejoicing. Of course you must go away. All boys do, sooner or later. And if you went to college you’d have to leave me.”

“This is better than any college!” cried Tom, enthusiastically. “West Point beats them all, in my estimation. Why, just think of it, they pay you for learning there! I’ll get real money—that is after a while. I’ll send you some,” he announced. “But say, Mother, now that I have passed so far, and there is a chance of my going to the Academy, what about that hundred dollars deposit? Can we raise it?”

“Oh, yes, I’ll manage somehow. Now let me see your letter. Is that all Mr. Hutton says, that you have passed?”

“I haven’t read it all myself, yet. That’s as far as I got. Hello, what’s this?” he exclaimed as his eyes took in the remainder of the epistle. “Hawkesbury named as alternate! Well, I suppose that’s only fair, but I’d rather it would have been some one else.”

“What’s that?” asked Mrs. Taylor.

“Why you see, Mother,” Tom explained, “the congressman names two candidates. The one getting the highest average is first, and the one who comes second is the alternate. That’s to provide, in case the first named doesn’t pass the further examinations at West Point, for some one to take his place, and have a try. Otherwise there’d have to be another preliminary test. So Clarence Hawkesbury is my alternate; eh?”

“Does that annoy you, Tom?”

“Oh, no. For we’ll not both be in West Point, that is, unless he comes up again next year in case of a vacancy. It will have to be either him or me this time, and I rather think,” said Tom, slowly, “it will be I. I’m going to pass, and make good!”

There was an air of determination about him as he said this that was good to see.

Tom read the letter over again. It gave few details except those that have been mentioned, but it contained the information that, in due time, formal notification would come from the Secretary of War, directing Tom when and where to apply at West Point for the further examinations, physical and mental.

Doubtless Clarence Hawkesbury had received a similar letter, and would also be told to apply at West Point when the time came for the final entrance examination.

“I only hope he doesn’t travel with me,” thought Tom, for though he had no ill-feeling against Clarence, yet the rich nephew of the old army officer had frequently made it unpleasant for Tom when they had met.

Formerly Mr. Taylor and Captain Hawkesbury had been rather intimate but, with the death of Tom’s father, and the discovery that most of his fortune had, in some manner, been acquired by the army officer and Mr. Doolittle, Tom could not help feeling coldly toward both the men. There was no specific reason for it, but Mrs. Taylor, too, did not like Captain Hawkesbury. Nor had she any warmer regard for Mr. Doolittle, though they both offered to do what they could to help settle up the estate.

The trouble of it was that there was very little left to be settled up—that is little for Tom and his mother, and Mrs. Taylor preferred the services of a young lawyer to those of Captain Hawkesbury or Mr. Doolittle.

In view of this it can easily be imagined that Tom did not have the warmest feeling in the world for the arrogant and supercilious youth who was to be his rival—a rival, at least, until the results of the final entrance examinations were known.

Once the delicious thrill of excitement following the receipt of the congressman’s letter was over, Tom and his mother began to consider ways and means. It would mean a change for them if Tom was to live permanently at West Point for four years. There was much to be done to get ready. But Tom, in the flush of his first success, made little of these preparations.

“We’ll manage—somehow,” said Mrs. Taylor, cheerfully.

CHAPTER V
AN ATTACK

A few days after Tom had received the letter from Congressman Hutton, our hero was further elated to get another missive through the mail. This came in a long official-looking envelope. It bore the imprint of the Secretary of War’s office, and came through the post office without bearing a stamp, which fact further gave Tom an idea of the importance he was beginning to assume.

“Though of course Clarence got one like it, too, I suppose,” he thought. “Well, I can’t have everything to myself.”

The letter from the Secretary of War, signed with his own name, much to Tom’s delight, formally notified our hero of his appointment, and directed him to report on a certain date, about the middle of June, at West Point for further examination.

“And now,” decided Tom, after he had shown the secretary’s letter to his mother and to many admiring friends, “I’m going to buckle down to hard work. I’ve just got to pass those exams!”

Tom had little doubt as to the result of the physical tests. He was in fine condition; he had lived a manly, clean life.

He played baseball and football in season, he was a good runner, jumper and swimmer. In short, he was an average, healthful American lad—a good all-around athlete, though no phenomenon in any one branch of sport.

He had been quickly passed by the first doctors who examined him, and though he realized that the physical tests at West Point would be more severe, he was not worrying on that score.

“But they may spring something on me in the mental tests that I’m not ready for,” mused Tom. “So I’m going to buck up.”

With this end in view he went to his high school principal, and had him map out a course of extra study that would bridge our hero over several rather shaky places. This was about the middle of May, so Tom had nearly a full month in which to prepare.

He heard indirectly that Clarence Hawkesbury was doing the same thing, but Clarence made rather a secret of it. Tom met him one evening in town, after a moving picture show given under the auspices of a high school society.

“Well, what’s the good word?” asked Clarence, with an appearance of good-fellowship Tom knew did not exist. Clarence blew out a cloud of highly-scented cigarette smoke as he put the question.

“Oh, everything’s lovely,” Tom answered, easily.

“Hear you’re going to West Point with me, as alternate,” went on Clarence, speaking in unnecessarily loud tones.

“I thought it was the other way around,” responded Tom, slowly. “I understand you are the alternate.”

“Pooh, you didn’t beat me more than five points on the average,” boasted Clarence, and this was true enough as far as the mental examination went. It was not true with the physical, however. “And I’ll lay you odds of two to one that I stay at West Point and you come back,” went on Clarence, sneeringly.

“Thank you. I don’t bet,” replied Tom. “But that needn’t stop you,” he added, for he did not want to be thought a prig.

“Oh, don’t worry! it won’t!” declared the youth, who had more money than was good for him. He swung off down the street with some cronies, spenders like himself, and a little later Tom and a chum or two passed them standing in the door of a poolroom, whence came the click of the ivory and colored balls.

As Tom passed he saw Clarence and Isaac Blake, two cronies, in close conversation in one corner of the doorway. Apparently they did not observe Tom, who heard Isaac remark:

“Think you’ll get a chance at him?”

“I’ll make the chance, if I don’t get it,” muttered Clarence. “If I can’t get there one way I shall another. Can I depend on you?”

“You sure can,” Ike said, and then Tom heard no more, for he passed on down the street.

“I wonder who it is they want a chance at?” Tom reflected. But if he gave it any further thought it was to guess idly that the talk referred to some one whom Clarence wanted to beat at pool or billiards.

That night Tom sat up late doing some extra studying, for he had neglected his lessons somewhat in order to go to the picture show.

Tom felt a bit tired the next day. He realized what caused it—studying too late. His eyes, too, were tired; possibly from pouring too long over text books, added to the strain of watching what the Scotchman called the “shiftin’ pictures.”

“I know what I’m going to do,” thought Tom. “I’ll go for a walk down by the river. It’s a fine day, and it ought to be nice on the water. I’ll get a boat and go for a row all by myself. I want to calm down. I’ve been doing too much thinking.”

It was Friday, and because of some special exercises the high school closed earlier than usual. Tom hurried home, changed into an old suit that would not be soiled by the water or mud in a boat, and made his way to the river. There were several pavilions where boats could be hired, but Tom, feeling rather in the mood for walking, went on until he had nearly reached the big railroad bridge, not far from which was a boathouse.

“And to think my father once owned all this land,” Tom mused as he looked at the big foundations on one side of the river. “If we had what the railroad company paid for it mother wouldn’t have to work so hard. Of course money wouldn’t make any difference to me at West Point. That’s one place where money doesn’t count. But if we had a few thousands mother could be nearer me, say in New York, and she could run up to see me once in a while. It’s going to be a long drill—two years at a stretch. But I guess I can stand it all right.”

Tom was about to proceed to the boathouse to hire a craft, when he was aware of a figure coming around a bend in the path that led to the river. A moment later he saw that it was Captain Hawkesbury. Rather a stern and forbidding figure it was too, for the uncle of Clarence was a gruff man, though it was said he was very fond of his nephew.

“Good afternoon, sir,” said Tom, saluting in what he hoped was the correct military fashion.

“Um! Afternoon,” was the half-grunted retort. Nor did Captain Hawkesbury take the trouble to return the salute. Perhaps he did not see it, or Tom may not have executed it properly.

“Oh, it’s you! is it; young Taylor?” went on the captain, looking at our hero from under shaggy, heavy eyebrows. “Um! I—er—I understand you’re going to have a try at West Point, young man.”

“Yes, Captain! I’m going to take the examinations.”

“And my nephew—er—he’s going too?”

“Yes. He’s my alternate!”

Tom could not refrain from that little exultation.

“Um, yes. Well, I don’t wish you any bad luck, young man, but I believe Clarence will win. He comes of fighting stock, sir! fighting stock!” and the army captain smote the ground with his cane, making the dirt fly.

“We have some fighters in our family, too,” Tom said, not to be outdone. “On my father’s and mother’s side we boast of what our families did in the Revolution.”

“Um! Oh yes, the Taylors did their share—their share,” admitted Captain Hawkesbury. “Well, we shall see! We shall see!” and muttering something under his breath, which Tom was not able to catch, the old fighter strode along.

“Not a very cheerful sort of man,” thought Tom, as he went down to get a boat. He thoroughly enjoyed the row on the river, and began to feel more like himself. He rowed until the lengthening shadows warned him it was time to return to his home, and a little later he was walking along the river bank.

Around a bend, near the place where he had met Captain Hawkesbury some time before, Tom heard voices, two of which at least, were familiar to him. The possessors of the voices were talking and laughing rather hilariously.

Suddenly footsteps could be heard, indicating that several persons were running along the hard-packed path, and a moment later Tom saw Clarence, Ike and a number of their cronies coming on the run.

“Looks as though they were having a race,” mused Tom.

“Get out the way! Let us pass! Don’t block the path!” called Clarence. “One side, Taylor, we’re trying to see who’s the best-footed.”

The path was narrow at this point. On one side was the river and on the other a low, swampy place. Tom had hardly room to get to one side.

“They have nerve,” he mused. “Why couldn’t they wait until they had room to race. I can’t get out of their way.”

The other lads gave him no chance. On they came swinging toward him, and, an instant later, as Clarence tried to pass Tom, the rich youth slid down the bank toward the river.

“Look out!” Tom cried.