As to reviewing the earlier work of the second term, there was not the slightest need.
By the time that the general review was half through it was plain enough that Dick Prescott's class standing was going to be better than it had ever been before.

In fact, he was slated to make the middle of this class.
"I'll be above the middle of the class next year, if the fates allow me to remain on with the corps," Dick promised himself and his friends.
"Oh, you'll be in the Army, suh, until you're retired for age, suh," predicted Anstey with great gravity.
The latter part of May passed swiftly for the busy cadets.

The first class men were dreaming of their commissions in the more real Army beyond West Point; the present third classmen were looking forward with intense longing to the furlough that would begin as soon as they had stepped over the line into the second class.
The new plebes were looking forward to summer encampment with a mixture of longing and dread---the latter emotion on account of the hazing that might come to them in the life under the khaki-colored canvas.
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.