He leaned
back against the wall, clenching his fists tightly.
"Haynes?" he whispered. "I don't like the fellow, and I never
did. He's no friend of yours, either, Dick. But he wears the
staunch old cadet uniform and has had more than three years of
the West Point traditions. It seems impossible, Dick. Had anyone
else but you told me this, even against Haynes, I would have turned
on my heel and walked away."
"I hope it isn't true---I hope it is all a hideous nightmare,
born of my dismay when I found myself going through space!" breathed
Dick fervently.
"What are you going to do about this?" asked Greg huskily.
"Nothing whatever."
"You are not going to mention Haynes to anyone else?"
"No, sirree! I shall keep my eyes open a bit when Haynes is around;
that is all."
"I hope it isn't true---oh, I hope it isn't true," breathed Greg
fervently. "But I know you're no liar, Dick, and you're no dreamer
of dreams! Confound it, I almost wish you hadn't told me this.
But I asked you to."
Greg's face was a queer ashen gray in color.
At that moment the call for dinner formation sounded.
"You're all ready, Dick, so hustle along. I've clean forgotten
to get myself ready. You hustle, and I'll try not to be late
in the formation.
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