Mid-September came, and with it certain changes. The court-martial which had been in session during the latter part of camp stood adjourned, awaiting the call of its president. It was understood that, owing to the unaccountable disappearance of a material witness, the case of Cadet Jennings could not be pressed. Musician Doyle had totally vanished, no man could tell whither. He had left his "kit" and his few belongings at the barracks down in Camptown, and had taken with him only the clothes he had on, said the drum-major. Some people thought he was drowned, but most believed that he had deserted. He was last seen at the Falls the night before the convening of the court. In the meantime, Mr. Jennings remained in arrest with extended limits, which meant that he had the privilege of exercising in the gymnasium and walking the area, but could enter no division in barracks other than his own. The two yearlings tried at the same time with him were quietly summoned to the office of the commandant one day and told to pack their trunks. They were out of uniform and off the Point before the order of the War Department was read that evening at parade dismissing them from the service. Benny Frazier was recovering his self-confident manner, and rapidly losing the meekness of spirit displayed during his troublous days the last week in camp, and Pops was losing something of his splendid brown color, and not a few hours of sleep.

In very truth Geordie's hard times were at hand. He was not a natural mathematician, and the lessons in algebra, so carelessly conned and tossed aside by his gifted room-mate, were proving long and hard to our young trooper. Barrack life differed very materially from that of camp. Reveille came at the same hour, the gun and the drums letting drive together at the first stroke of 5; the drummers came marching in across the Plain and through the resounding sally-port, then rattled and banged a moment, one in each hallway, then reunited in the area, and by 5.10 the whole corps would be jumped into ranks at the brisk assembly, about one-fourth of their number rushing out only at the last instant. Then came the rapid roll-call, the few moments of sweeping and dusting before police inspection, the brief soldier toilet, the march to breakfast, etc. There was time for study before the first recitation for all those studiously disposed—which most of the corps had to be—and then at 7.55 the bugle summoned one-half the entire battalion to recitation—the First Class to engineering, the Second to mechanics, the Third to analytical geometry, and the Fourth to algebra; the highest sections in each reciting, as a rule, first hour, and the first hour at West Point meant just half an hour longer than it does anywhere else. The sections began recitation by 8.5, and were recalled by the bugle at 9.30, at which time the other half of the battalion was formed and marched, each section by its own marcher, to the rooms vacated by the upper half of the class.

One word now about West Point recitations. The section-rooms were severity itself in their furniture, which consisted only of blackboards or slates on three sides of each room, two long benches, one on each side, a wooden desk and chair on a little wooden dais between the windows for the instructor. There used to be a stove in the centre, in case of mishap to the steam supply, and that was all, unless chalk, pointers, and erasers were counted. In soldierly silence the section marched to the door, hung their caps on pegs outside, went to their places, stood attention, facing inwards, while the marcher reported, "All are present, sir," then took their seats. On the slate back of the instructor were written the page and paragraph to which next day's lesson extended, and it was each cadet's business to note it. No time was lost. The instructor, a lieutenant especially distinguished for scholarship while a cadet, called up his pupils one after another, giving to the first four demonstrations to work out on the front boards from the lesson of the day. The next four were sent to the side boards with problems on leading points in the lesson of the previous day, and the ninth man "jumped" to the floor and was put through a cross-examination in some subject under discussion that was intended to thoroughly sound the depth of his knowledge. Each cadet on being called stepped to the centre of the floor, "stood attention," facing the instructor, received his enunciation, faced about, went to the board, wrote his name and the order in which he was called up (that is, first, second, or third) in the upper right-hand corner, then went to work. No communication of any kind was allowed. As soon as his work was finished the cadet faced about, stood at ease until called upon to recite, then, pointer in hand, he began: "I am required to discuss the Problem of the Lights," or "I am required to deduce a rule for such and such a purpose," or, generally, whatsoever his task might be. Then he proceeded in his own words to do it.

All this time the instructor sat quietly listening and mentally criticising. The whole idea of the West Point system is that the reciting cadet becomes for the time being the instructor, endeavoring to explain the subject to somebody who knows nothing at all of the matter. Then comes the instructor's turn. If the recitation has been full, every point fairly, squarely met and covered, not a jot or tittle requiring further elucidation, the instructor generally says, "Very well, sir, that'll do," and the young gentleman goes to his seat sure of a "max.," or "3," on the weekly list. If the instructor has to ask a question or two in order to establish the pupil's thorough knowledge, 2.9 or 2.8 may result; 2.5 is really a good mark; 2 is fair; 1.5 what would be called "fair to middling" on 'Change; 1 is only tolerable, and zero a flat and utter failure, or its equivalent, a statement that the cadet doesn't "know enough about it to attempt a recitation." Many a cadet has taken zero and a report for neglect of studies rather than make a bungling performance, but the instructors are ordinarily men of such mould that they soon get to gauge their pupils thoroughly, and instead of letting a young fellow doom himself to failure, they patiently question, "draw him out," and there demonstrate that he knows not a little of the subject, and mark him accordingly. Recitations go on every morning in the week, Sundays alone excepted.

The West-Pointer has only one half-holiday, and that Saturday afternoon, and then only those whose conduct has been up to the mark can enjoy it—confinement to quarters, or "walking punishment tour," being the fate of many a boy regularly as the day comes round. And so by Saturday the cadet has recited five, or possibly six, times in the morning recitations, and on Monday the class reports are published, showing the exact standing in every study of every man in the corps. It is comical sometimes at the start to see how the plebes attempt to work off the time-honored excuses of the school-boy. They are worthless at the Point. Even if he were really so ill he could not study, the cadet cannot be excused by the instructor. The young gentleman has to go to his first sergeant at reveille, ask to have his name put on the sick-book; then when sick-call sounds he is marched down to the hospital and states his case to the doctor, who can order him into hospital if the matter be at all serious, or prescribe some remedy, and mark him excused from first recitation, from drill, or whatever may be necessary. Now anywhere else that would mean "excused from attending recitation," but not at West Point. Unless actually in hospital and under medical care the cadet must go to the recitation-room with his class, there report to the instructor, "I am excused from reciting, sir." The fact is noted on the record for the day, and, taking his seat, the cadet follows his comrades' work as best he may.

While one-half the corps is at recitation, the other half, each cadet in his own room, is required to be at study; no visiting is allowed. At 11 the heavier recitations are over for the day. From this hour on the time given to each is only about fifty-five minutes in the section-room. At 12.55 the first drum beats for dinner. All sections are then dismissed; books are hurriedly returned to rooms, and by 1.5, in solid ranks, the battalion is marching down to Grant Hall. From the time they get back to barracks—about 1.35—until the bugle again sounds at 2, is release from quarters. At 2, recitations begin again. Law, languages, drawing, drill regulations, or something of that character, take up the afternoon until 4, then all are marched (and it is march, march all the time) to barracks, where they have five minutes in which to get ready for afternoon drill. In September the school of the battalion is the prescribed exercise, followed by parade at sunset, these giving way in October, as the days become shorter, to artillery drills at the various batteries. Supper comes after parade, and evening "call to quarters;" study hour, thirty minutes after the return of the battalion from supper. Study goes on until tattoo, which, when Pops was at the Point, was sounded at 9.30, followed by taps at 10. Each cadet was expected to make down his bedding for the night at tattoo, and to be in bed, undressed, and with his light extinguished when the drum sounded at 10 o'clock. Officers of the First Class and cadet staff and first sergeants of the Second Class were the exceptions. These were permitted lights until 11, the cadet officers being assigned to duty all over barracks as inspectors of sub-divisions, each one having two floors, or eight rooms, under his control, and these he was to inspect at morning police call and at taps.

What with turning out at 5 A.M. and studying, reciting, exercising in the gymnasium or on drill, the plebes, at least, were ready to go to bed at 9.30; some found it impossible to keep awake until then.

Such being the general programme, let us see how it applied to Geordie and Frazier. The former was fidelity itself in his desire to observe regulations and perform his duty. Benny, eager and enthusiastic at first, was rapidly developing traits that proved him to be just the reverse. Week and week about each became responsible for the condition of the room, his name being posted as orderly. They were in the subdivision of Cadet Lieutenant Webb, the first officer to inspect their room each day. Later came the inspections made by the cadet officer of the day, and, almost invariably, morning and evening, a visit from Lieutenant Allen, the commandant of Company B (or "the B Company tack," as termed in the corps). If at any one of these inspections anything was found amiss—chairs or broom, caps or accoutrements, washbowl or buckets or books out of place, dust on mantel or dirt on floor—the inspector never stopped to ask who was at fault; he simply glanced at the orderly-board to see who was responsible, and down went that gentleman on the delinquency book, and that meant—unless the report were removed—so many demerit and so much light punishment.

Pops found no trouble in keeping himself and his room in order, but he couldn't keep Benny. Before the 25th of September, "Graham, orderly," had been reported four times for things he really could not help, and all due to Benny's careless habits. Once it was washbowl not inverted, another time broom out of place, and twice chairs out of place. Benny, the last one to use these items during his room-mate's absence, had left them as found by the inspector. Pops remonstrated, gently at first, but afterwards sternly, and Frazier either sulked or else swore he left everything all right; "somebody must have come in and upset them."

This was bad enough, but worse was to follow. Before the end of the month, every Saturday evening at parade, the adjutant was busily reading "transfer orders," principally in the Fourth Class. Fluent in recitation. Benny Frazier had made a brilliant start. This part of mathematics he had been over time and again, and he was transferred to the first section at the first order. At the second order, along about the 20th, poor Geordie heard with heavy heart his own name read out for transfer, not up, but down. "Cadet Graham to the fourth section." He had worked hard, very hard. He studied faithfully every possible moment, while Benny was listlessly yawning, dozing, or scribbling. A few minutes conning over the familiar pages put him at his ease as to the lesson of the morrow, while Graham worked on with reddening eyelids. Sometimes the latter would appeal to Frazier to explain points that were perplexing to him, and Benny at first seemed rather pleased to do so, but he was no patient instructor, and not especially gifted in the method of proving why this or that was thus and so. He thought Geordie ought to see it all at a glance.

What with going up to the first section at a bound and believing himself on the high-road to the head of the class, coupled with the fact that now there was so very little time given to anything but recitation and study, Benny began to look upon himself as out of the shadow and into the sunshine of prosperity once more. Then came an order releasing Mr. Jennings from arrest. No case had been established. The court simply had to acquit him. The rifle affair was being forgotten in the press of other matters. "Nothing succeeds like success." Class-mates could not but admire Frazier's fluency in recitation, and Graham, silent, reserved, studying day and night, was not the prominent figure in his class-mates' eyes he had been in camp. Presently Benny's manner, from having been meek and appealing, began to be patronizing and superior. Then as pride and confidence reasserted themselves he began to chafe at any authority over him. The third week in barracks Frazier got four reports as room orderly; the fourth week Pops's name was hoisted to the top of the orderly-board, and he gravely told Benny he hoped he'd be careful.

That very evening after supper Connell took Geordie's arm and led him out on the Plain.

"I want you to come and walk with me, old man," he said. "You were going to your room to 'bone,' and I know it. Pops, don't do that. What time we have to spend in the open air you need to take for no other purpose. You'll go to your work with a clearer head."

Geordie protested, but he knew Connell was right. Moreover, letters had come that very day from McCrea and the doctor, both bidding him feel no discouragement because he was making only an average of less than 2.5, "even if you do go down two or three sections," wrote the lieutenant; "and I was scared badly because they sent me from the fifth down to the sixth, but I came out all right." The doctor, too, urged that his boy take heart, and bade him neglect no regular out-door exercise. A great believer in fresh air and sunshine was the doctor. Still, Pops was blue. Connell, a Western lad, with only the drilling of the public schools, had managed to cling to his place in the first section, and with every day was becoming more and more at home in the methods of the section-room.

"Doesn't Frazier help you?" he asked.

"Not much. He's generally busy reading, writing, or dozing, and he's impatient of my stupidity, I suppose. Everything seems so easy to him," answered Pops.

"Yes, I never heard such finished recitations. 'Old Scad' just sits there and nods approval, and seldom asks a question." ("Old Scad" was the irreverent title given to a gray-headed lieutenant of artillery by a previous class, and plebes rarely fail to adopt such nicknames.) "Benny's 'maxing' right along just now," continued Connell.

"Do you think he'll be head of the class?" asked Pops.

Connell pondered a moment before replying. "He might, because he's just as fluent in French; but I'll bet my hopes of graduation against the corporal chevrons you're bound to wear next June that if he's head in January he'll never get there again."

"Why, Con? What do you mean?"

"Simply this: Frazier is a sort of fireworks fellow. He's going up with a flash and a roar, but he'll burn out by the time we get into analytical. He isn't a stayer. Mr. Otis was telling me last night that there were cases where fellows who stood head in the plebe January dropped out of sight by the end of the third year. As for Frazier, he'll get found on demerit if he isn't careful. He's smoking cigarettes again. Don't let him light one in the room."

"Oh, he doesn't so long as I am there. Of course if I get reported as orderly for tobacco smoke in quarters he'll be man enough to take it off my shoulders."

Connell was silent a moment, then he spoke: "I don't want to wrong Frazier, but I'm inclined to think that the less you build on his doing the manly thing at his own expense the safer you'll be."

And that evening, as Geordie returned to his room, all in a glow from the brisk walk, he found a party of plebes just breaking up and scattering to their quarters. Benny had been "entertaining," and the air was full of cigarette smoke. Vigorous fanning with the door and with towels swept much of the smoke out through the open window, but the aroma of the heavy, drug-scented cloud hovered over the occupants' heads.

"You knew what would happen. How could you be so reckless of other fellows' rights?" said Graham, angrily.

Benny flared up at once. He wasn't going to forbid gentlemen smoking when they came to see him! There was no danger, anyhow! They'd fan out the room before Allen could come, and by hard work they did. Mr. Allen looked queer, but said nothing. "Didn't I tell you!" cried Benny.

"All the same," answered Pops, "there must be no more of it when I'm orderly."

"I'd like to know how you'll stop it," said Frazier, defiantly. "You won't be so mean as to 'skin' a room-mate, and get 'cut' by the whole class for doing it, will you?"

Alas for Geordie! Frazier's penitence had been too short-lived, his escape from the toils in the rifle case too easy, his triumph in French and mathematics too much for his selfish and shallow nature. On his own account, Graham had not received a report for three weeks; on Frazier's he had received five, and these necessitated his writing explanations and wasting time, even though the reports were removed. But one evening, coming in just before call to quarters, he found half a dozen of his class-mates sitting with Frazier and sharing his cigarettes and applauding his stories. Even after the bugle blew, they loitered about going. Under the strict construction of the regulations of the academy it was his duty to order the smoking stopped at once, and to report every cadet engaged in it, but only the cadet officer of the day is "on honor" to report every breach of regulations coming under his notice. That night, in the midst of his frantic efforts to fan out the smoke, in came Lieutenant Allen. The next evening the report was read out, "Graham, orderly, tobacco smoke in quarters 7, 7.30 P.M." "I've simply got to take the punishment," said Geordie, "because I did not stop it the instant I got in." And when Connell and others took it upon themselves to tell Frazier he ought to go to the commandant and assume the responsibility, that young gentleman replied, "You must be sick! I was only one of the lot; 'tisn't as though I did it all alone."

But Foster was one of the party, and Duncan another. These two boys marched up to Colonel Hazzard two days later and declared themselves the smokers, and begged that Graham be relieved; but Graham, as ill-luck would have it, had already been sent for and asked what he had to say.

"Nothing, sir," was his answer.

"If it occurred in your absence, Mr. Graham," said the colonel, kindly, "and you did not see the smokers, or if you put a stop to it the moment you did—"

But Geordie shook his head. And so for six consecutive Saturday afternoons, armed and equipped as a sentry, and thinking unutterable things as he did so, Geordie Graham tramped up and down the area of cadet barracks as punishment for having permitted smoking in quarters. It carried him, in punishment, almost up to Christmas; but there was no lack of company. Some afternoons the area was crowded.