The Army officer seemed trying to look Mr. Prescott through and through, for Bates thoroughly suspected Dick of a bold stroke to save his friend from watchful tac. eyes.

“There was a question that came up among some of the yearlings in camp today, sir,” Dick went on, very respectfully.  “I found myself ignorant, as were some of the others, as to the correct answer to the question.  As you are the officer in charge of the encampment, I have made bold, sir, to ask you the answer.”

“Is it a matter relating directly to military tactics or discipline, Mr. Prescott?” asked Captain Bates, speaking as coldly as before.

“Indirectly, sir, I think.”

“Then state the question, Mr. Prescott.”

Greg, having reached the path, halted at attention several yards away from his bunkie.

“The question that came up, sir,” continued Dick, and he was speaking the truth, for the question had been discussed, “is whether there is any regulation, or any tacit rule that requires a cadet of the upper classes to attend any stated number of hops in the season, or during the year?

“No cadet, Mr. Prescott, is required to attend any hop unless he so elects.  The single exception would be that any cadet, having once made an engagement to attend a hop, would be bound by his word to attend, unless he had received proper release from that engagement.  Such release, in nearly all instances, would come from the young woman whom the cadet had invited to attend a hop with him.”

“Thank you, sir.”  Again Dick saluted very respectfully.

“Any other questions, Mr. Prescott?”

“No, sir.”

Dick saluted carefully.  Captain Bates returned the salute, and turned to go.

Cadet Holmes, waiting until he found himself once more in range of the tactical officer’s vision, raised his hand to his cap in very correct salute.  This salute, also, Captain Bates returned, and then strode on toward camp.

“You came near missing me, Holmesy,” Dick remarked carelessly and in a low voice, though he felt very certain that his tone overtook the departing tac.

In silence, at first, Greg and Dick turned and walked in the opposite direction together.

“Going to load the signal gun, eh, Greg!” chaffed Prescott.

“Yes,” confessed white-faced Holmes, a quiver in his voice.

“It’s a childish sport, and a dangerous one.  Better leave it to the fellows who are tired of being at West Point,” advised Dick quietly.

“Oh, what a debt I owe you, old ramrod!” cried Greg fervently.

“Not a shadow of a debt, Greg.  You’d have done just the same thing for me.”

“Yes, if I could have been quick enough to think of it.  But I probably wouldn’t have figured it out as swiftly as you did.”

“Yes, you would,” Dick retorted grimly, “for it was the only way.  What’s that bulging out the front of your coat, Greg?”