"Say, tell me, did you do him?"  
The speaker was a lad with brown, curly hair and a laughing, merry face, at present, however, half covered with a swathing of bandages. He was standing on the steps of the hospital building at West Point, and regarding with anxiety another lad of about the same age, but taller and more sturdily built.
 
"I don't know that I did him," responded Mark—for the one addressed was he—"I don't know that I can say I did him, but I believe I would have if the fight hadn't been interrupted."
 
"Bully, b'gee!" cried the other, excitedly slapping his knee and wincing with pain afterward. "Gimme your hand! I'm proud of you, b'gee! My name's Alan Dewey, at your service."
 
Mark took the proffered hand, smiling at the stranger's joy.
 
[Pg 118]"My success seems to cause you considerable pleasure," he said.
 
"Yes, b'gee!" exclaimed Dewey, "it does! And to every true and loyal plebe in the academy. You've brought honor to the name of plebe by licking the biggest yearling in the place, b'gee, and that means the end of hazing."
 
"I'm not so sure of that," said Mark.
 
"I am," returned the other. "But say, tell me something about the fight. I wanted to come, only I was shut up in hospital. Did Williams put up a good one?"
 
"Splendid," said Mark.
 
"He ought to. They say he's champion of his class, and an all-round athlete. But you look as if you could fight some yourself."
 
"He almost had me beaten once," said Mark. "I thought I was a goner."
 
"Say, but you're a spunky chap!" remarked Dewey, eying Mark with an admiring expression. "I don't think there's ever been a plebe dared to do half what you've done. The whole class is talking about you."
 
"Is that so?" inquired Mark, laughing. "I didn't mean to do anything reckless."
 
[Pg 119]"What's the difference," laughed the other, "when you can lick 'em all, b'gee? I wish I could do it," he added, rather more solemnly. "Then, perhaps, maybe I wouldn't be the physical wreck that I am."
 
"You been fighting, too?" inquired Mark, laughing.
 
"Betcher life, b'gee!" responded the other, emphatically. "Only I wasn't as clever at it as you."
 
"Tell me about it," said Mark, with interest.
 
"It happened last Saturday afternoon, and I've been in hospital ever since, b'gee. Some of the cadets caught me taking a walk up somewhere near what they call 'Crow's Nest.' And so they set out to have some fun. Told me to climb a tree, in the first place. I looked at the tree, and, b'gee, there wasn't a limb for thirty feet, and the limbs there were rotten. There was one of 'em, a big, burly fellow with short hair and a scar on his cheek——"
 
"Bull Harris!" cried Mark.
 
"Yes," said Dewey, "that's what they called him—'Bull.'"
 
"Did you fight with him?"
 
"Betcher life, b'gee! He tried to make me climb that tree, and, b'gee, says I, 'I won't, b'gee!' Then I lammed him one in the eye——"
 
[Pg 120]"Bully!" cried Mark, and then he added, "b'gee!" by way of company. "Did he beat you?"
 
"Betcher life," cried the other. "That is, the six of 'em did."
 
"You don't mean to say the crowd attacked you?"
 
"That's what I said."
 
"Well, sir!" exclaimed Mark, "the more I hear of that Bull Harris the bigger coward I find him. It's comforting to know that all the cadets aren't that way."
 
"Very comforting!" responded the other, feeling of the bandage on his swollen jaw. "Very comforting! Reminds me of a story I heard once, b'gee, of a man who got a thousand dollars' comfort from a railroad for having his head cut off."
............