October came and went. The Highlands were all aflame with the gorgeous hue of the autumn foliage. The mountain air was crisp and keen, full of exhilaration and life. Regular hours, regulated exercise, sound sleep were all combining to bring about among the plebes the very "pink of condition." Letters from the far frontier, coming regularly, gave Geordie comfort and encouragement. Both his father and Mr. McCrea bade him be of good cheer, and all would come well. He used to steal away to a quiet nook near Kosciusko's Garden to read his mother's loving missives in those days, for there was little peace for him at home. Benny was developing a new trait with an old name—"boning popularity," it used to be called. The episode of the cigarettes had caused among all thinking members of the Fourth Class much unfavorable comment at Frazier's expense, and he was quick to note the coldness and aversion.

"See here, Pops," said he, "if you think I ought to go and tell the commandant I was smoking, I'll do it; but it isn't going to help you, that I can see. It's all the fault of these brutal regulations, making you responsible because you were too much of a gentleman to come in and order that smoking stopped in your room right off. If my confessing my part in it would remove your punishment, I'd do it quick as a cat can jump—but it couldn't, so what's the use?"

Graham shook his head, and Frazier magnified that into proportions which enabled him to say to many a class-mate, "I offered to go and assume the whole responsibility provided I didn't have to name the others, but Graham begged me not to do it."

And now, by way of retaining his hold on the class, Benny became a lavish entertainer. Many an evening he would invite certain of his cronies to come up after supper and "bring the crowd," as he expressed it. It meant that another instalment of luxuries had been received. It was an easy matter for his fond parents to send box after box of fruit, confectionery, or goodies of some kind to "Mr. Peter Peterson," at Highland Falls, and for "Mr. Peterson" to fetch them up the back road west of the observatory, and down the hill behind the barracks, where, under cover of darkness, Benny and his chums could meet him and run the "contraband" up to the room. Cadets were permitted to receive an occasional box from home, but not in such frequency, or without inspection by the officer in charge. And so while Pops and Connell and Ames, and other solid men of the class, were taking their evening stroll before study hour, Benny and his set were feasting and smoking in barracks, but smoking no more when Graham was orderly.

"I don't mean to make any trouble about this case," Pops had said, very quietly, "but I give fair warning I will take no more demerit and punishment on other men's account."

Benny confided to his fellows that Graham was a close-fisted, selfish Scotchy, as he ought to have had sense enough to know he would be. He was sorry he had chosen him as a tent and room mate, but he couldn't leave him now, when Graham so needed his help in mathematics, and there were not a few who accepted his statement as both plausible and probable. Up in the first section, however, the keener minds were "getting on to Frazier," as Connell expressed it, and along about the middle of November a thing occurred that set them all to thinking.

By this time the class was hard at work in a more difficult and intricate part of the text, and the ground was not so familiar to the prize scholar of Beanton. Frazier had to study, and he didn't like it. Up to this point his easy flow of language and his confident mien, coupled with the thorough mathematical drilling he had had at home, had stood him in excellent stead. He was leading the class at an easy gait, and winning the highest mark without much effort. "He can't help being head in French, too," said his friends, "but if he land anywhere in the 5's, he's sure of the head of the class." But about this time Ames and Wheeler began to crowd him. They were "maxing through," while Benny showed an occasional 2.9, 2.8, and once "Old Scad" had actually had to cut off three-tenths from his mark. An admirable and patient instructor, he had one or two defects, as have most men. He was a trifle deaf, and decidedly unsuspicious. An honorable gentleman himself, he was unprepared for the faintest deception in others. Twice had the section noted that when up on questions Frazier was taking advantage of this, for when asked in a tone which clearly indicated that the answer as heard or understood was an error, Benny had, in repeating the answer, changed his words accordingly. Connell, naming no names, asked Mr. Otis and Mr. Glenn if this were considered fair. "No, sir; emphatically no, sir," was the reply.

One Friday night, with a lesson for the morrow that was unusually intricate, Frazier sat chuckling over an amusing book he had smuggled into barracks, while Pops was painfully laboring at his slate. Next morning at breakfast some one asked Benny how he "worked out the rule" in a certain case, and Benny laughingly answered:

"I haven't even looked at it yet."

"Well, then, you'd better be doing it," was the reply.

Frazier had counted on the fact that for three days past he had been up at the front board on the lesson of the day, and that there was no possibility of its happening this Saturday morning. If called up at all it would be on the work of the previous day. At any rate, after breakfast would be time enough. But so difficult was the demonstration, that when he fell in with his section he had not been able to finish it. That day was signalized by many a "cold fess" in the lower sections; but they were forgotten in view of what happened in the first. Connell and Harris in succession had faced about with "clean boards."

"I can do anything else in the lesson, sir, but not that," said the latter.

But "Scad," was not appeased. "This ought not to occur in the first section," he said. "That'll do." Then looking around, as though searching for some one to do justice to the subject, his eye fell on Benny. "Mr. Frazier, take that demonstration."

And with a cold chill darting up his legs Benny went to the board. It was barely 8.30; there was no hope of stringing out his work so as to have it unfinished and unmarked when the bugle sounded. That might do in the fifth section, but not in the first. Keeping up his bold, confident manner, he chalked briskly away, but trusting—praying—something might happen to help him through. Ames, at the next board, was deep in his own problem—a long, intricate matter. Nine o'clock boomed from the old tower, and still these two leaders faced their boards and figured away. At last Benny could see that Ames had skilfully and perfectly solved his problem, and that in the natural order of things he would be called on to recite as soon as Benton finished. Then would come his turn, and for the life of him he could not remember an important equation, on which everything depended—he, Frazier, the cadet so confidently booked for the head of the class! Then Benton began to stumble, and "Old Scad" went over to the board to explain. Ames finished his work, laid aside his chalk, dusted his fingers, gave a downward pull to his coat and an upward hitch to his trousers, picked up the pointer, and was about turning, when Frazier's hand touched his sleeve. On the board before him Benny had chalked as much of the needed equation as he remembered, followed by an interrogation mark. An appealing glance told what was wanted. Ames glanced anxiously about him, hesitated, colored, then impatiently took up the chalk, and while Scad's broad blue back was turned, rapidly wrote the missing links. Frazier copied, nodded gratefully, and went on. The claimant for the head of the class had sought and obtained and availed himself of the assistance of a rival. Scad neither saw nor suspected. The entrance of the professor of mathematics, making the rounds of his class, led to an exhaustive explanation of some difficult points in the day's lesson. Then Ames began reciting on his problem, and before he finished the bugle recall came ringing through the corridors.

"That'll do, Mr. Ames; that'll do, Mr. Frazier. Section's dismissed!" said Scad; and Benny was saved.

"It may do in the fifth section, by gum! but never in the first," said Wheeler and others that evening. "If Frazier comes out head, it's fraud, and nothing less."

But Benny held that as he didn't recite it made no difference. Yet when Monday came it was found that he had been marked 3 for the work which, had he been cross-examined, he could have explained only partially, on which but for Ames's aid he would have failed disastrously. Frazier's mark for the week was higher than that of the class-mate at whose expense and personal risk Benny was saved.

"I'd rather be the foot of the class with your reputation, Pops, than head of the corps with Frazier's," said Connell, hotly, for Geordie was low in his mind. He had been given a hard demonstration that very morning, had failed, and now was fearful of going down another section.

And now, except weekly inspection and occasional guard duty, there were no formations under arms. Drills were discontinued. Study hours were longer. So were the lessons. The snow-flurries became frequent. The dark, dreary winter days were upon them. Geordie took his regular exercise, and was beginning to be looked upon as one of the likeliest athletes in the class. The gymnasium of those days was a primitive affair, but the instructor knew his business, and taught it. All the plebes began to look forward with eagerness or apprehension to the midwinter turning-point—the January examination. Once more, finding himself losing ground with his class, Benny was devoting himself to Pops. There is nothing more ephemeral than popularity, and no place were it counts for so little as West Point. Plebe leaders and idols sometimes hold their sway beyond the winter solstice, but rarely last till June. Then, little by little, men who were hardly noticed at the start begin to come forging to the front with the backing of solid respect, and these are the "stayers." When December came many a plebe had far more jovial greeting for Benny than for his grave, reticent room-mate. But the "solid men" of the class—fellows like Ames and Connell, Benton and Ladd and Wheeler—sought the latter more and more with each succeeding day.

At last came the January examination. Geordie had been holding his own at moderate average marks for nearly a month, and knew that he was reasonably safe. Still, a bungling performance would be sure to throw him far down in the class, even though it did not throw him entirely out. He had been faithful, steadfast, systematic, and his honest work was beginning to tell. There was mad excitement in the class over the publication of the rolls. The result as to the head of the class was a foregone conclusion. Warned by his narrow escape in November, Frazier had "turned to" and really studied for several weeks, during which time his performance was brilliant, and even those of his class-mates who neither trusted nor respected him were forced to admit that, so long as he chose to work and leave nothing to chance, he could take the lead and keep it. "But wait till next year, and he's beyond his depth in calculus," said upper class men.

One clear, cold evening in January Mr. Glenn's voice was taxed to the utmost. For nearly forty minutes, with the long line of motionless gray overcoats for an audience, he read through sheet after sheet, page after page, of class standing in all manner of subjects. Our interests are only with the plebes. Despite lapses in discipline, Cadet Frazier led the Fourth Class in general standing. Some eighteen young fellows at the opposite end were declared deficient and discharged, and Geordie Graham found himself No. 38 out of 79 examined and passed. It was really better than he had hoped.

Then began the long pull for June. Each day the sun rose earlier and stayed up longer. Geordie plodded on at his books steadily as ever, cheered by the glad letters from home, and taking comfort in the growing friendship of such fellows as Connell and Ames. Benny, elated with easy victory, had relapsed into his careless, defiant ways. Reports were frequent; explanations ditto. Rumors of allegations against reporting officers and assertions of innocence on Frazier's part "more ingenious than ingenuous" were again afloat. By the time March was ushered in his array of demerit, despite his explanations, was such that Geordie felt concerned, and gravely remonstrated. Frazier, ever intolerant of advice from anybody, resented Pops's interference. "It's all the fault of such outrageous rules and spying officers," said he. Already the plebes were eagerly canvassing the prospects for chevrons in June. Rumors of all kinds were afloat. The faintest hint dropped from the lips of such magnates as the cadet captains or adjutant went from mouth to mouth like wildfire, growing as they flew. "Connell, Forbes, Ames, and Pops were sure of chevrons," said the boys. Indeed, Pops was getting rid of that part of his name now, and being jocularly hailed on all sides as "corporal"; but the finest officer of the Beanton Battalion was not so much as mentioned in cadet prophecies. Of course, they might have to make the head of the class something, but he had a good many demerit, and, what was more, was by no means certain of the head of the class again. He made beautiful figures in geometry and trigonometry and beautiful translations in French. He was "way up" in conversation, but he slipped occasionally in conjugation and grammar. The most fluent and easy speaker of the French tongue, Benny's mark was already lower than those of two young gentlemen who had never been abroad at all.

Then came another matter that showed the drift of public sentiment. A time-honored custom was the election of hop managers for the coming summer. There were to be nine from the new First Class and six from theirs, and canvassing was already lively. Benny renewed his hospitalities, and sought to extend the circle of his guests, for of the former lot no less than six had been among the victims discharged. He began showing attention to many a class-mate hitherto unnoticed. He had a confidential, caressing way of twining his arm around the boy he desired to win over as they walked off together, and all his arts were put in play.

The election was scheduled for the 15th of March, and despite the wintry and blustering weather the Hon. Mr. Frazier and his accomplished wife came from Beanton, bringing with them two very pretty cousins of Benny's, really charming girls, and Benny marshalled his class-mates up to the hotel to see them on Saturday and Sunday, Pops blushing like a rose when Mrs. Frazier took his hand and said how glad she was to know the soldierly room-mate of whom her dear boy had told her so much. Doubtless the fond mother thought how very fortunate Geordie was in being Benny's friend.

Altogether the little visit was a big success. Despite the open refusal of many to vote for Frazier, it was held that a young man with his social advantages could not fail to reflect credit upon the class. Enough ballots, therefore, were cast to barely squeeze him through, the lowest of the six.

"I'm sorry they didn't name you as one of them, corporal," he said; "but I suppose you fellows from the frontier don't go much on society."

And, as usual, Pops quietly grinned without making any reply, and, election over, Benny soon fell back into his old ways.

We must jump now to June. All through May Benny had been "bracing up for corporal-ship," for he could not but note how utterly his claims were ignored by his own class-mates, while Pops kept on in the same steadfast line of duty, always prompt and alert, but silent; so reticent, in fact, and so halting at times in recitations, that he was looked upon by his instructors as slow. Delightedly the whole corps doffed the sombre gray and donned the white trousers on the 1st of June. Review and reception of the Board of Visitors went off in the usual finished style. The examinations of the graduating and furlough classes were rushed swiftly yet searchingly to their close, the Fourth Class sections being taken up rapidly, and disposed of in the same cold-blooded, business-like style, and then, one glorious June morning, the whole corps marched as escort to the graduates to the front of the library, where the diplomas were presented with much ceremony and congratulation. Then back to the front of barracks they tramped and re-formed line, and Glenn's voice rang out the last order he was destined to read as adjutant of the corps of cadets. All appointments hitherto existing in the battalion were annulled, and the following announced in their stead: To be captains, cadets so and so (Pops's first sergeant among them). To be adjutant, Cadet Blank. Then a list of lieutenants, another of sergeants, and then, to the thrilling interest of Geordie and his class-mates, now become full-fledged yearlings, the list of corporals. Cadets Benton, Wright, Ames, and Connell, the first four; Harry Winn, eighth, Graham somewhere below the middle; Benny Frazier nowhere. The January head of the class was unplaced on the soldier list, and three days later was officially announced to have fallen from first to fourth in general standing.