Prescott introduced her son to Mrs. Davidson, wife of the new
pastor.
"I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Prescott," said Mrs. Davidson,
looking up, for up she had to glance in order to see the face of
this tall, distinguished-looking cadet.
Dick Prescott's return bow was made with the utmost grace, yet
without affectation. His natty straw hat he held in his right
hand, close to his breast.
Mrs. Davidson was a sensible and motherly woman, who wished to
give this young man the pleasantest greeting, but she was plainly
at a loss to know what to say. Like many excellent and ordinarily
well-informed American people, she had not the haziest notions
of West Point.
"You are learning to be a soldier, of course?" she asked.
"Yes, Mrs. Davidson," replied Dick gravely. Neither in his face
nor in his tone was there any hint of the weariness with which
he had so often, of late, heard this aimless question repeated.
"And when you are through with your course there," pursued Mrs.
Davidson, "do you enlist in the Army? Or may you, if you prefer,
become a sailor in our--er--Navy?"
"Oh, I fear, Mrs. Davidson, that you don't understand," smiled
Mrs. Prescott proudly. My son is now going through a very rigorous
four years' course at the Military Academy.
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