Day by day he grows more homesick until it seems to him that he simply cannot endure the Military Academy for another twenty-four hours.
One afternoon, while taking a walk as a relief from too hard application to his mathematics, Cadet Dick Prescott stumbled upon some news that made him open his eyes very wide.
"Well, of all things!" he growled to himself.
Then he walked faster.
"Greg must hear of this," muttered the new plebe.
Going down the street at military stride, Cadet Prescott turned in at the north sally port, stepped briskly along one of the walks, bounded up the steps and in at the outer door of the subdivision in which he dwelt.
Up the stairs with considerable speed went Cadet Prescott, still revolving in his mind the news upon which he had stumbled.
"What on earth will Greg think ?" throbbed the new plebe.
In a very short time Prescott's hurrying feet carried him to the door of his room on the top floor.

The door yielded as Dick put his hand to the knob.
"Greg, what do you think ?" whispered Dick breathlessly, as he went quickly into the room and toward his roommate, who sat bent over his study table.
The very attitude was unmilitary--a fact that struck Prescott suddenly.
Then Greg, hearing his roommate's voice, raised his head somewhat and wheeled about in his chair.
What a woebegone face Cadet Gregory Holmes presented! "Greg, what on earth is the matter ?" demanded Dick, halting short and staring hard.
"I can't help it," replied Greg miserably, shaking his head.
"Can't help what ?" demanded Dick thunder-struck.
"I can't help what I've gone and done.

I had to do it!" cried Greg, with sudden fierceness in his tone.
"What you've done ?" echoed Dick.

"Well, what have you gone and done, anyway, old fellow?
Does it stop anywhere short of murder--or lying ?" For in the West Point code of honor lying ranks very nearly as bad as murder.
"I guess perhaps it isn't quite as bad as either," smiled Greg wanly.
"However, I couldn't help doing it." He rose to his feet, a bit unsteadily, leaning one hand on his study desk.
Greg's hair was a bit awry, as though he had run his hands many times through it in some mood of desperation.

This, in itself, was in defiance of West Point traditions for the personal neatness of the cadet.
"You still have me altogether in the dark, Greg," murmured Dick wonderingly.
"You'll lose all respect for me, Dick," went on Greg miserably.
"Then it must be something awfully bad that you've done," retorted Dick, opening his eyes wider than ever.
Without another word Greg reached to his desk, picked up a sheet of paper and in silence passed it over to his comrade.
Dick read with a gathering of his eyebrows.