STONEWELL RECEIVES A LETTER

When Henry Bligh became a midshipman he was not at all a vicious young man. But he arrived at Annapolis with an unformed character. His predominating trait was a desire for applause, and early in his fourth class year his football ability had many times earned for him vociferous applause. It was his predominating desire, a passion to become personally famous, that had urged him to give the signal for the Gates forward pass when playing against Harvard—the dishonor attached to the act had not been clearly fixed in his mind. The immediate result, his dismissal from the football squad in disgrace, his execration by the entire brigade of midshipmen—the change of his position from one of bright fame to contemptuous disesteem, had immediate effect upon the unformed character of Mr. Henry Bligh. He was plunged in the blackest of gloom and he brooded day and night over his troubles.

It was a pity he had no close friend to talk with, no older midshipman to be advised by. Amongst the midshipmen there had been a burst of anger against him and then he had been left entirely alone.

No organized "coventry" was declared against him, but a most effective, far-reaching one existed. Its direct result was to make Bligh continually unhappy, and this engendered in him passionate anger. Anger must find an object, and Bligh's directed its full force upon Stonewell and Blunt. The former, so he believed, had been the cause of all of his troubles; the latter had supplanted him at football, had defeated him in a personal fight.

On that first night when the midshipmen of Bancroft Hall had been so startled by the awful cry of "Save me," Bligh had been in the basement; he heard the cries and found Farnum, out of his head, seated in the boatswain's chair at the bottom of the ventilating shaft. Bligh of course immediately knew what had happened, but he kept this knowledge to himself.

On the night spoken of in the last chapter, Bligh had been on the sick list, and therefore was excused from company muster. It occurred to him that he could perpetrate this act and scare the hundreds of midshipmen who had showered such contumelious treatment upon him.

It really would have been a good joke had it succeeded, but unfortunately for Bligh his detection rendered his position almost unbearable. He had been roughly treated by Stonewell; and now whenever he passed a cadet officer he was halted and given directions.

"Brace up, Mr. Bligh, put your heels together, little fingers on the seams of your trousers, chest out, belly in, head up, chin in."

Had the joke been done by Glassfell or perhaps any upper classman it would have been laughed at. But to have been perpetrated by a plebe was an indignity to time-honored midshipman custom. And that the plebe should have been Mr. Bligh made the act worse than an indignity; it was an unbearable thought. And so for a while Plebe Bligh figured on every delinquency conduct report. Cadet officers suddenly discovered that Fourth Classman Bligh's hair was too long, his clothes not brushed, his shoes not shined. Bligh grew nearly frantic, morning after morning, at hearing such a report read out as:

"Bligh, Wearing torn trousers at morning inspection.

"Same, Soiled collar at same.

"Same, Not properly shaved at same."

Bligh, much as he was to be blamed, really was to be pitied. No midshipman was ever more friendless, ever more in need of kindly direction. Under some circumstances he might have developed a useful character, a high standard of thought and action. But in his lonely life there was nothing but black, bitter hopelessness. Bligh was in a state of mind to yield to dark temptation if it presented itself. Had his mental state been known some one might have taken him in hand and befriended him and directed his thoughts to more wholesome subjects. But Bligh made no advances to any one and in sad silence unknown and unthought of, brooded tempestuously.

Beautiful May once more held dominion over man and nature at Annapolis. For the midshipmen there were studies, to be sure, but the studies were all reviews of previous lessons and therefore were easy. And then there were drills, but these, this last month, were always in the presence of hundreds of visitors and therefore of particular interest to the midshipmen drilling. Cadet Lieutenant Drake, marching his company across the parade ground, and giving in stentorian tones such orders as:

"Squads right, full step, march," "Company shoulder arms, double time march!" felt particularly important in so doing, and thought all eyes were on him; and little Fourth Classman Mumma, handling a rifle instead of a sword, and obeying instead of giving orders, knew in his own mind that the people were really looking at him, so he was filled with pride and martial ardor; and so with all of the rest of them.

And after drills were over the Academy grounds were thronged with midshipmen and their friends, and the happiness ushered in at Annapolis by every May seemed to enter all hearts.

Robert Drake now frequently called at the Blunt household and always found a warm greeting there. Harry Blunt gladdened his mother's heart by getting on the first conduct grade, and so at times was to be seen in his father's house on authorized liberty. Robert never spoke to him, and though Helen wondered why he should so cling to animosity against her brother, and thought him unreasonable, yet she contrived it that Robert and Harry were never at the same time together in the house.

"Bob," remarked Stonewell the next Sunday morning, just after the commandant had finished room inspection, "this is a glorious day; what do you say to a ramble? Let's go across the river and strike into the woods; I know a trail through there, where the woods are wonderfully thick; it will be beautiful to-day."

"Do you mean the path that leads by two old chestnut trees, trees of enormous size and now almost dead?" inquired Robert.

"Yes, that's the place; those trees must be hundreds of years old. Then wild flowers and ferns will be out, all so fresh and lovely this time of year. Don't you just long for the woods when the spring-time comes?"

"Indeed I do, Stone," cried Robert, "and this will be a fine day for a stroll."

Soon the bugles rang out their call for brigade formation and hundreds of midshipmen rushed out on the terrace. Here the companies were rapidly formed and then Cadet Commander Stonewell came to an about face, saluted and reported:

"Sir, the brigade is formed."

Upon this the commandant, accompanied by a staff of officers and cadet officers, passed in front of the long line, scanning each midshipman closely, and corrected those who were careless in dress. The ranks were then closed and the brigade was marched to the chapel.

After service was concluded the midshipmen were dismissed and Robert and Stonewell went back to their rooms together.

In their absence mail had been distributed, and on the table in their room lay two letters, one for Robert, the other for his roommate.

Robert's letter was from his father, and was full of cheering home news, and it was eagerly read by the young man.

"By George, Stone, father enjoys his work with the Light House Board ever so much. He says——Why, Stone, old chap, what is the matter?"

Stonewell was standing at the open window, looking blankly across the waters of the Chesapeake Bay. In his left hand, crushed, was the letter he had just received. His face was drawn, and in it Robert recognized an expression he had seen but once before. Intense apprehension and worry, perhaps fear, shone from Stonewell's eyes. Apparently he was oblivious to his roommate's question, for he took no notice of it.

"What's the matter, Stone?" again cried Robert, rising from his chair, and going to his roommate.

"Oh, Bob, excuse me for not answering your question—I was—I was thinking of something else."

"But have you had bad news? You surely have, Stone. Can't you talk it over with me? Just think how much good you did me when I had bad news."

Stonewell gave Robert a look of great affection and said: "Thank you, old friend, there is no one on earth I would talk with so quickly as I would with you. And it may be that I will want to talk something over with you later, but just at present, Bob, there is nothing I could say—you must excuse me." And with that Stonewell picked up his hat and strode from the room.

Robert was full of surprise and worry. It was plainly evident that Stonewell was under deep emotion, and just like him, he could not or would not speak of the matter that so affected him.

"I wish he would talk it over with me," thought Robert; "it always makes a fellow feel better if he tells his worries to a true friend. What a lot of times old Stone has helped me in my troubles—and some of them were big ones, too! When we take our walk this afternoon I'll try to get him to tell me."

Robert now went out in the grounds, thinking he might meet his roommate, but he did not, and as they sat at different mess tables he had no chance to talk with Stonewell until after dinner.

As soon as they were dismissed after dinner Robert found his roommate, and said:

"Come along, Stone, let's start out right away; it's a beautiful day and we'll have a glorious ramble."

"Bob, I can't go; I find I have some letters I must write; get somebody else to go with you, old fellow—I wish I could go, but I really can't."

Robert looked blankly at Stonewell. His anticipations of a pleasant walk suddenly vanished and the day seemed dreary. He knew his roommate too well to try to expostulate or argue with him.

"I'm awfully sorry, Bob," continued Stonewell, laying an affectionate arm on Robert's shoulder, and with real concern noticing Robert's evident disappointment. "I do wish I could go with you, but I really can't."

"I think I'll write some letters too," remarked Robert in a dull, forlorn sort of way.

"Oh, don't waste this beautiful afternoon that way!" said Stonewell; "why don't you get Helen to take a walk with you; she's probably thinking you may call to-day."

"I'm going to write some letters," reiterated Robert stolidly.

"Why, Bob, that's ridiculous; go out and enjoy the day," urged Stonewell; "it will be awfully tiresome remaining indoors all afternoon."

But Robert was as immovable as he knew Stonewell to be; the latter seemed more anxious for Robert to go out than the circumstances called for.

In a few minutes both were in their room, writing, and both ill at ease. As a matter of fact neither wanted to write letters.

"Stone, I want you to tell me what has been bothering you," Robert finally blurted out. "You have helped me any number of times and I have never done a thing for you."

"You are constantly helping me, every day," replied Stonewell; "you can have no idea of how your opinion and regard for me have kept me braced up. I know that my course here at Annapolis is considered a successful one; I know, Bob, you think I am superior to you. Now I know I'm not; you have qualities of steadfastness, of decision of character that I can never hope for. I have a certain faculty of quickly solving problems that has given me my class rank, but, Bob, I know you have qualities that will outlast mine; and it is your attitude of mind toward me that has kept me striving, and to you is largely due the success I have won here. So never again say you have not helped me. You have been my constant inspiration. Now, Bob, you think there is something on my mind. If there is, it does not concern myself, and I assure you I want to forget it; and I cannot talk about it even with you. But I promise you I will come immediately to you if the slightest thing should arise in which you could help me. So oblige me, Bob, by dismissing this matter from your mind."

Robert listened like one astonished. That he could have been of such help to his roommate he had never imagined and the thought of it made him very happy.

"Bob," continued Stonewell with his rare smile, "I'm sure Helen Blunt will be surprised if you don't drop around to see her this fine afternoon, and as that scamp of a brother of hers is on the first conduct grade it won't hurt if you see him at her home."

"All right, Stone," rejoined Robert, cheerily. "I see you want to be alone and I won't bother you any more; but I'm sorry you're going to miss that stroll across the river. I'm much obliged, old chap, if you think I ever helped you; I never knew I had, and I'm very happy at the thought. I think I'll see if I can find Helen and persuade her to take a walk."