As the days slipped by, Prescott began to have more and more of his old, firm step.  He began to feel sure, too, that the surgeons would have no more fault to find with his condition.

“Why, I could ride a horse in fine shape to-day,” declared Prescott, on one of the last days in May.

“Could you?” demanded Cadet Holmes quizzically.

“Perhaps I had better amend that bit of brag,” laughed Dick.  “What I meant was that I could ride as well, to-day, as I ever did.”

“Don’t be in a hurry to try it, old ramrod,” advised Greg with a frown.  “Be satisfied that you’re doing well enough as it is.  Don’t be in a hurry to joggle up a spine that has had about as much as it could stand.”

“I’ll bet you I ride in the exhibition riding before the Board of Visitors,” proposed Prescott earnestly.

“I shall be mightily disappointed in your judgment if you attempt it without first having received a positive order,” retorted Greg.  “Don’t be a chump, old ramrod.”

The exhibition before the Board of Visitors to which Dick had referred is one of the annual features of West Point life.  The Board is appointed by the President of the United States.  The Board goes to West Point a few days before graduation and thoroughly “inspects” the Academy and all its workings.  The Board of Visitors impressively attends graduation exercises.  Afterwards the Board writes its report on the Military Academy, and suggests anything that occurs to the members as being an improvement on the way things are being already conducted by Army officers who know their business.

One man in the second class was going badly to pieces in these closing days of the academic year.  That man was turnback Haynes.  His trouble was that he had allowed a private and senseless grudge to get uppermost in his mind.  He lived more for the gratification of that grudge than he did for the realization of his own ambitions.

“This confounded Prescott has escaped me, so far, though his last experience was a narrow squeak.  I’ve had two tries—–­and, by the great blazes! the third time is said never to fail.  He’s in such bad shape now that it won’t take much of a push to put him over the edge of physical condition.  But how can I do it?”

So much thought did the turnback give to this problem that he fell further and further behind in general review.  He was moving rapidly toward the bottom of the class.

Worse, he began to dream of his grudge by night.  In his dreams Haynes always reviewed his hopes of successful villainy, or else found himself trying to put through some new bit of profound rascality.  Always the turnback awoke from such dreams to find himself in a cold sweat.

“I’ll hit the right scheme—–­the real chance—–­yet!” the plotter told himself, as he tossed restlessly at night, while his roommate, Cadet Pierson, slept soundly the sleep of the just and decent.