CHAPTER IV.
"THE WOMAN TEMPTED ME."
June is here. The examinations are in full blast. The Point is throngedwith visitors and every hostelrie in the neighborhood has opened wideits doors to accommodate the swarms of people interested in thegraduating exercises and eager for the graduating ball. Pretty girlsthere are in force, and at Craney's they are living three and four in aroom; the joy of being really there on the Point, near the cadets,aroused by the morning gun and shrill piping of the reveille, salutedhourly by the notes of the bugle, enabled to see the gray uniforms halfa dozen times a day and to actually speak or walk with the wearers halfan hour out of twenty-four whole ones, being apparent compensation forany crowding or discomfort. Indeed, crowded as they are, the girls atCraney's are objects of boundless envy to those whom the Fates haveconsigned to the resorts down around the picturesque but distant"Falls." There is a little coterie at "Hawkshurst" that is fiercelyjealous of the sisterhood in the favored nook at the north edge of thePlain, and one of their number, who is believed to have completelysubjugated that universal favorite, Cadet McKay, has been heard to saythat she thought it an outrage that they had to come home so early inthe evening and mope away the time without a single cadet, when up thereat Craney's the halls and piazzas were full of gray-coats and bellbuttons every night until tattoo.
A very brilliant and pretty girl she is, too, and neither Mrs. McKay norNannie can wonder at it that Will's few leisure moments are monopolized."You are going to have me all to yourself next week, little mother," helaughingly explains; "and goodness knows when I'm going to see MissWaring again." And though neither mother nor sister is at all satisfiedwith the state of affairs, both are too unselfish to interpose. How manyan hour have mothers and, sometimes, sisters waited in loneliness at theold hotel for boys whom some other fellow's sister was holding in silkenfetters somewhere down in shady "Flirtation!"
It was with relief inexpressible that Mrs. McKay and Uncle Jack hadhailed the coming of the 1st of June. With a margin of only two demeritsWill had safely weathered the reefs and was practically safe,--safe atlast. He had passed brilliantly in engineering; had been saved by hisprompt and ready answers the consequences of a "fess" with cleanblack-board in ordnance and gunnery; had won a ringing, thoughinvoluntary, round of applause from the crowded galleries of theriding-hall by daring horsemanship, and he was now within seven days ofthe prized diploma and his commission. "For heaven's sake, Billy,"pleaded big Burton, the first captain, "don't do any thing to ruin yourchances now! I've just been talking with your mother and Miss Nannie,and I declare I never saw that little sister of yours looking so whiteand worried."
McKay laughs, yet his laugh is not light-hearted. He wonders if Burtonhas the faintest intuition that at this moment he is planning anescapade that means nothing short of dismissal if detected. Down in thebottom of his soul he knows he is a fool to have made the rash andboastful pledge to which he now stands committed. Yet he has never"backed out" before, and now--he would dare a dozen dismissals ratherthan that she should have a chance to say, "I knew you would not come."
That very afternoon, just after the ride in the hall before the Board ofVisitors, Miss Waring had been pathetically lamenting that with anotherweek they were to part, and that she had seen next to nothing of himsince her arrival.
"If you only _could_ get down to Hawkshurst!" she cried. "I'm sure whenmy cousin Frank was in the corps he used to 'run it' down to Cozzens'sto see Cousin Kate,--and that was what made her Cousin Kate to me," sheadds, with sudden dropping of the eyelids that is wondrously effective.
"Easily done!" recklessly answers McKay, whose boyish heart is set tohammer-like beating by the closing sentence. "I didn't know you sat upso late there, or I would have come before. Of course I _have_ to behere at 'taps.' No one can escape that."
"Oh,--but really, Mr. McKay, I did not mean it! I would not have you runsuch a risk for worlds! I meant--some other way." And so she protests,although her eyes dance with excitement and delight. What a feather thisin her cap of coquetry! What a triumph over the other girls,--especiallythat hateful set at Craney's! What a delicious confidence to impart toall the little coterie at Hawkshurst! How they must envy her theromance, the danger, the daring, the devotion of such an adventure--forher sake! Of late years such tales had been rare. Girls worth thewinning simply would not permit so rash a project, and their examplecarried weight. But here at "Hawkshurst" was a lively young brood,chaperoned by a matron as wild as her charges and but little older, andeager one and all for any glory or distinction that could pique thepride or stir the envy of "that Craney set." It was too much for a girlof Sallie Waring's type. Her eyes have a dangerous gleam, her cheeks awitching glow; she clings tighter to his arm as she looks up in hisface.
"And yet--wouldn't it be lovely?--To think of seeing you there!--are yousure there'd be no danger?"
"Be on the north piazza about quarter of eleven," is the prompt reply."I'll wear a dark suit, eye-glass, brown moustache, etc. Call me Mr.Freeman while strangers are around. There goes the parade drum. _Aurevoir!_" and he darts away. Cadet Captain Stanley, inspecting hiscompany a few moments later, stops in front and gravely rebukes him,--
"You are not properly shaved, McKay."
"I shaved this morning," is the somewhat sullen reply, while an angryflush shoots up towards the blue eyes.
"No razor has touched your upper lip, however, and I expect the class toobserve regulations in this company, demerit or no demerit," is thefirm, quiet answer, and the young captain passes on to the next man.McKay grits his teeth.
"Only a week more of it, thank God!" he mutters, when sure that Stanleyis beyond ear-shot.
Three hours more and "taps" is sounded. All along the brilliant _facade_of barracks there is sudden and simultaneous "dousing of the glim" and arush of the cadets to their narrow nests. There is a minute of bangingdoors and hurrying footsteps, and gruff queries of "All in?" as thecadet officers flit from room to room in each division to see thatlights are out and every man in bed. Then forth they come from everyhall-way; tripping lightly down the stone steps and converging on theguard-house, where stand at the door-way the dark forms of the officerin charge and the cadet officer of the day. Each in turn halts, salutes,and makes his precise report; and when the last subdivision is reported,the executive officer is assured that the battalion of cadets is presentin barracks, and at the moment of inspection at least, in bed.Presumably, they remain so.
Two minutes after inspection, however, Mr. McKay is out of bed again andfumbling about in his alcove. His room-mate sleepily inquires frombeyond the partition what he wants in the dark, but is too longaccustomed to his vagaries to expect definite information. When Mr.McKay slips softly out into the hall, after careful _reconnaissance_ ofthe guard-house windows, his chum is soundly asleep and dreaming of noworse freak on Billy's part than a raid around barracks.
It is so near graduation that the rules are relaxed, and in every firstclassman's room the tailor's handiwork is hanging among the grayuniforms. It is a dark suit of this civilian dress that Billy dons ashe emerges from the blankets. A natty Derby is perched upon his curlypate, and a _monocle_ hangs by its string. But he cannot light his gasand arrange the soft brown moustache with which he proposes to decoratehis upper lip. He must run into Stanley's,--the "tower" room, at thenorth end of his hall.
Phil looks up from the copy of "Military Law" which he is diligentlystudying. As "inspector of subdivision," his light is burned untileleven.
"You _do_ make an uncommonly swell young cit, Billy," he says,pleasantly. "Doesn't he, Mack?" he continues, appealing to hisroom-mate, who, lying flat on his back with his head towards the lightand a pair of muscular legs in white trousers displayed on top of a pileof blankets, is striving to make out the vacancies in a recent ArmyRegister. "Mack" rolls over and lazily expresses his approval.
"I'd do pretty well if I had my moustache out; I meant to get the startof you fellows, but you're so meanly jealous, you blocked the game,
Stan."
All the rancor is gone now. He well knows that Stanley was right.
"Sorry to have had to 'row' you about that, Billy," says the captain,gently. "You know I can't let one man go and not a dozen others."
"Oh, hang it all! What's the difference when time's so nearly up?"responds McKay, as he goes over to the little wood-framed mirror thatstands on the iron mantel. "Here's a substitute, though! How's this fora moustache?" he asks, as he turns and faces them. Then he starts forthe door. Almost in an instant Stanley is up and after him. Just at thehead of the iron stairs he hails and halts him.
"Billy! You are not going out of barracks?"
Unwillingly McKay yields to the pressure of the firm hand laid on hisshoulder, and turns.
"Suppose I were, Stanley. What danger is there? Lee inspected lastnight, and even he wouldn't make such a plan to trip me. Who ever heardof a 'tack's' inspecting after taps two successive nights?"
"There's no reason why it should not be done, and several reasons why itshould," is the uncompromising reply. "Don't risk your commission now,Billy, in any mad scheme. Come back and take those things off. Come!"
"Blatherskite! Don't hang on to me like a pick-pocket, Stan. Let me go,"says McKay, half vexed, half laughing. "I've _got_ to go, man," he says,more seriously. "I've promised."
A sudden light seems to come to Stanley. Even in the feeble gleam fromthe gas-jet in the lower hall McKay can see the look of consternationthat shoots across his face.
"You don't mean--you're not going down to Hawkshurst, Billy?"
"Why not to Hawkshurst, if anywhere at all?" is the sullen reply.
"Why? Because you are risking your whole future,--your profession, yourgood name, McKay. You're risking your mother's heart for the sport of agirl who is simply toying with you----"
"Take care, Stanley. Say what you like to me about myself, but not aword about her."
"This is no time for sentiment, McKay. I have known Miss Waring threeyears; you, perhaps three weeks. I tell you solemnly that if she hastempted you to 'run it' down there to see her it is simply to boast of anew triumph to the silly pack by whom she is surrounded. I tell youshe----"
"You tell me nothing! I don't allow any man to speak in that way of awoman who is my friend," says Billy, with much majesty of mien. "Takeyour hand off, Stanley," he adds, coldly. "I might have had some respectfor your counsel if you had had the least--for my feelings." Andwrenching his shoulder away, McKay speeds quickly down the stairs,leaving his comrade speechless and sorrowing in the darkness above.
In the lower hall he stops and peers cautiously over towards theguard-house. The lights are burning brilliantly up in the room of theofficer in charge, and the red sash of the officer of the day showsthrough the open door-way beneath. Now is his time, for there is no onelooking. One quick leap through the dim stream of light from the lanternat his back and he will be in the dark area, and can pick his noiselessway to the shadows beyond. It is an easy thing to gain the foot-pathbeyond the old retaining wall back of the guard-house, scud away underthe trees along the winding ascent towards Fort Putnam, until he meetsthe back-road half-way up the heights; then turn southward through therocky cuts and forest aisles until he reaches the main highway; thenfollow on through the beautiful groves, through the quiet village,across the bridge that spans the stream above the falls, and then, onlya few hundred yards beyond, there lies Hawkshurst and its bevy ofexcited, whispering, applauding, delighted girls. If he meet officers,all he has to do is put on a bold face and trust to his disguise. Hemeans to have a glorious time and be back, tingling with satisfaction onhis exploit, by a little after midnight. In five minutes his quarrelwith Stanley is forgotten, and, all alert and eager, he is half-way upthe heights and out of sight or hearing of the barracks.
The roads are well-nigh deserted. He meets one or two squads of soldierscoming back from "pass" at the Falls, but no one else. The omnibuses andcarriages bearing home those visitors who have spent the eveninglistening to the band at the Point are all by this time out of the way,and it is early for officers to be returning from evening calls at thelower hotel. The chances are two to one that he will pass the villagewithout obstacle of any kind. Billy's spirits rise with the occasion,and he concludes that a cigarette is the one thing needful to completehis disguise and add to the general nonchalance of his appearance.Having no matches he waits until he reaches the northern outskirts ofthe Falls, and then steps boldly into the first bar he sees and helpshimself.
Coming forth again he throws wide open the swinging screen doors, and abroad belt of light is flashed across the dusty highway just in front ofa rapidly-driven carriage coming north. The mettlesome horses swerve andshy. The occupants are suddenly whirled from their reposeful attitudes,though, fortunately, not from their seats. A "top hat" goes spinning outinto the roadway, and a fan flies through the midst of the glare. Thedriver promptly checks his team and backs them just as Billy, allimpulsive courtesy, leaps out into the street; picks up the hat with onehand, the fan with the other, and restores them with a bow to theirowners. Only in the nick of time does he recollect himself and crushdown the jovial impulse to hail by name Colonel Stanley and his daughterMiriam. The sight of a cavalry uniform and Lieutenant Lee's tall figureon the forward seat has, however, its restraining influence, and heturns quickly away--unrecognized.
But alas for Billy! Only two days before had the distribution been made,and every man in the graduating class was already wearing the beautifultoken of their brotherhood. The civilian garb, the Derby hat, the_monocle_, the stick, the cigarette, and the false moustache were allvery well in their way, but in the beam of light from the windows ofthat ill-starred saloon there flashed upon his hand a gem that two pairsof quick, though reluctant eyes could not and did not fail to see,--the_class ring_ of 187-.