Edwards.
"May I have that letter, sir?"
The cadet lieutenant handed it back without a word.
"May I--may I--"
"Out with it, Mr. Holmes."
"May I handle this letter at once in the way that I now wish, sir?"
"You may."
Greg, his face again flushing painfully, tore the sheet into small
bits, turning and tossing them into his waste basket. Then he again
wheeled, standing at attention.
"Stand at ease, mister," ordered Mr. Edwards, dropping out of his
official tone and manner. "Now, mister, will it do you any good if I
explain a few little things about life here at West Point?"
"I shall be very glad, indeed, sir, if you will be good enough,"
replied Greg rather shamefacedly.
"In the first place, mister," went on the cadet lieutenant, sitting,
now, with one leg thrown over the corner of Greg's desk, "the
homesickness that has hit you touches every other man who comes
here. It's a mighty hard-working life here, and I'll admit, mister,
that it's very cheerless during the plebe year.
"You think you are looked down upon, and regarded as being
beneath contempt, mister. That sort of treatment for a plebe is
believed to be necessary here.
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