Dick flushed worse than ever when he saw many of his classmates begin to squirm.
"They might, at least, take it all out on me, and leave the class alone," muttered Dick to himself.
"Where are you going so fast, mister ?" hailed a yearling, after the return to camp, as he beheld a plebe hurrying down a company street.
"I'm summoned as a witness before the general court-martial," called back Mr.Plebe, over his shoulder.
"Court-martial?
I hadn't heard there was to be one." "Yes, sir; they're going to try the prisoner caught on number three, sir." The yearling turned away grinning, for once not deeming it necessary to rebuke a "beast" for attempting to make a smart answer.
Out on the range, at target practice, two mornings later, Dick did some especially bad shooting.
"Don't be afraid of hitting the target, Mr.Prescott," advised Lieutenant Gerould dryly.

"It's made of something more substantial than straw." A gleeful roar went up from some of the other "beasts." Lieutenant Gerould eyed them in surprise, for this Army officer was one of the few at West Point who had not already heard of number three sentry's capture.
It was a fortnight ere Cadet Prescott could feel really secure against more "joshing" over the incident.
"I'm better satisfied than if we had done what we set out to do to that plebe," remarked Yearling Davis to his tentmates.
"Mr.Prescott is a rather decent sort--for a mere plebe," replied Poultney.

"Do you know, I think he's almost glad that he caught the dummy we rigged for him.

I believe the little beast would have hated to catch a uniform stuffed with human flesh.".