As for Cadet Jordan, that young man's face went instantly livid.
He clenched his fists, while the blackness of a storm was on
his features.
"Mr. Prescott," he demanded, "do you realize what you are
saying---what you are doing?"
"You are relieved. You will report yourself to the instructor,
sir!" Dick cut in tersely.
Anstey was already chasing the yearling squad out with the balks,
and the young men were moving fast.
As for Dick Prescott, he did not favor Mr. Jordan with a further
glance or word, but walked with swift step back to the task of
which he was in charge.
With face flushed, Mr. Jordan walked over to the instructor, reporting
himself as directed.
"Dismissed from to-day's instruction," said the Army officer briefly.
"Wait and return with the detachment, however."
So Cadet Jordan, first class, saluted, turned on his heel, sought
the nearest shady spot and sat down to wait.
His body idle, the young man had plenty of time to think---about
Cadet Captain Dick Prescott.
"There's nothing to Prescott but swagger and cheap airs," decided
Mr. Jordan, idly tossing pebbles. "It's a pity he can't be taken
down a peg or two! And now I'm in for demerits before the academic
year starts. Probably I shall have to walk punishment tours, too!"
Somehow, Jordan had come along through his more than three years
in the corps without attracting much attention.
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