But swiftly his view
changed. He realized about him, were hundreds of the flower of
the young manhood of the United States. These young men were
being trained in the ways of justice and honor, and were trying
to live up to their ideals.
If such an exceptional, picked body of young men had condemned
him---had sentenced him to bitter retribution---was it not wholly
likely that there was much justice on their side?
"The verdict of so many good and true men must contain much justice,"
Prescott thought, as he munched mechanically, trying proudly to
bide his dismay from watchful eyes. "Then I have offended against
manhood, in some way. Yet how? I have obeyed orders and have
performed my duties like a soldier. How, then, have I done wrong?"
Once more it seemed indisputable to Prescott that his comrades
had wronged him. But once more his own sense of justice triumphed.
"I am not really at fault," he told himself, "nor is the class.
The class has acted on the best view of appearances that it could
obtain. I was wholly right in obeying the orders that I received
from Lieutenant Denton, and equally right in not communicating
those orders to a class committee. Nor could I refrain from reporting
Mr. Jordan for breach of con. That was my plain duty, more especially
as Mr. Jordan is a member of the company that I command. But the
appearances have been all against me, and I have refused to explain.
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