CHAPTER XXVI.

“I HAVE THE COURAGE TO BE A COWARD.”

Something which happened immediately after Fischer left the tent effectually drove from Mark’s mind all ideas of fights and first classmen. It was the blessed long-expected signal, a roll upon the drum, the summons to fall in for the evening’s dress parade.

And oh, how those plebes were “spruced up!” The four members of the Banded Seven who roomed in Mark’s tent had taken turns looking over each other in the effort to find a single flaw. A member of the guard trying for colors was never more immaculate than those anxious strangers. Of the many pair of duck trousers allotted to each cadet every pair had been critically inspected so as to get the very whitest. Buttons and belt plates were little mirrors, and every part of guns and equipments shone. When those four “turned out” of their tent they felt that they were worthy of the ceremony.

It was an honor to be in the battalion, even if you were in the rear rank and could see nothing all the time but the stiffly marching backs in front. And it was an honor to have your name called next to a first classman’s on the roll. The cadet officer had known the roll by heart and rattled it off in a breath or two; but now he had to read it slowly, since the new names were stuck in, which bothered him if it did delight the plebes.

It was a grand moment when each plebe answered very solemnly and precisely to his own; and another grand moment when the cadet band marched down the long line to its place; and another when the cadet adjutant turned the parade over to the charge of the officer in command; and finally, last of all, the climax, when the latter faced about and gave the order, “Forward, march!” when the band struck up a stirring tune and amid waving of flags and of handkerchiefs from hundreds of spectators, the all-delighted plebes strode forward on parade at last.

How tremblingly and nervously he stepped! How gingerly and cautiously he went through the manual of arms! And with what a gasp of relief he finally broke ranks at the sunset gun and realized that actually he had gotten out of it without a blunder!

Then they marched him down to supper. Formerly the plebes had marched dejectedly in the rear and sat over in an obscure corner of the room. That had its advantages, however, for he did not have to pour the water and wait till everybody else was helped, and he was not subject quite so much to the merry badinage of the merciless yearling. On the whole he was rather glad when supper was over and after marching back to camp was dismissed for that day at last.

Mark and his chum, who as we have seen were now interested in nothing quite so much as sleep, or lack of it, made for their tents immediately to go to bed. But once more the fates were against them, for scarcely had they entered the door before another cadet rushed in. It was the excited first captain, and he was in such a hurry that he had not even stopped to remove his sword and sash, the remnants of “parade.” He bore the news that the committee had imparted to him; and its effect upon Mallory may be imagined.

“Fight you,” he gasped. “For Heaven’s sake, man, you’re wild.”

“I’m as serious as I ever was in my life,” replied the other. “The committee from the class told me just before parade.”

“What on earth made them select you?”

“I don’t know,” groaned Fischer. “I had a couple of fights here--I whipped Wright, the man you knocked out the time when the class attacked you so disgracefully. And they seem to think I’d stand the most chance, at least that’s what the committee said.”

“And what did you tell them?” inquired Mark, in alarm.

“Tell them? I haven’t told them anything yet. I was too horrified to say a word. I’ve come over to see you about it. I’m in a terrible fix.”

“Well, refuse, that’s all.”

“I can’t!”

“But why not?” demanded Mark.

“My dear fellow,” protested the other, “you don’t understand how the class feels about such things. I’m a member of it, and when I’m called upon to defend the class honor I daren’t say no. When you have been here as long as I have you’ll understand how the cadets would take it. They’d be simply furious.”

“Then do you mean,” gasped the other, staring at him in consternation, “that I’m expected to fight you?”

“I don’t see what else,” responded the captain, reluctantly. “What can I tell the class? If I simply say that I’ve been rather friendly with you, they’ll say I had no business to be. And there you are.”

“No business to be,” echoed Mark, thoughtfully, gazing into space. “No business to be! Because I’m a plebe, I suppose. And I’ve got to fight you!”

“What else are we to do,” protested the other. “I’m sure I shan’t mind if you whip me, which you probably will.”

“Whip you!” cried Mark; he had sprung to his feet, his hands clinched. And then without another word he faced about and fell to striding up and down the tent, the other watching him anxiously.

“Mr. Fischer,” he demanded suddenly, without looking at the other, “suppose I refuse to fight you?”

“Don’t think of it!” cried Fischer, in horror.

“Why not?”

“Because you would be sneered at by the whole corps. Because they would call you a coward and insult you as one, cut you dead! You could not stand it one week.”

“What else?” inquired Mark, calmly.

“What else! What else could there be! For Heaven’s sake, man, I won’t have it! I couldn’t make the class understand the reason. You’d be an outcast all the time you were here.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

And Mark turned and gazed at the other, his brown eyes flashing.

“Mr. Fischer,” he began, extending his hands to the other, “let me tell you what I have thought of you. You have been the one friend I have had in this academy outside of my own class and Wicks Merritt; you have been the one man who has had the fairness to give me my rights, the courage to speak for me. I have not always taken your advice, but I have always respected you and admired you. And, more than that, I owe my presence here to you.”

Mark paused a moment, while his thoughts went back to the time.

“I had enemies,” he continued at last, slowly, “and they had me in their power. They had persuaded the superintendent that I was a criminal, and I looked for nothing but disgrace. And it was you, then, and you only of all the cadets of this academy, who had honor and the courage to help Texas prove my innocence. And that debt of gratitude is written where it can never be effaced. My debt to you! And now they want me to fight you!”

The captain shifted uneasily.

“My dear fellow,” he began, “I can stand it.”

“It is not for you to stand,” said Mark. “It is for me. It is I who owe the debt, and I shall not pay it with blows. Mr. Fischer, I shall not fight you.”

“But what will you do? You will be reviled and insulted as a coward.”

“Yes,” said Mark, firmly; “I will. But as I once told Texas, there are a few things worse than being called a coward, and one of them is being one.”

“I know,” protested Fischer. “But then----”

“There are times,” Mark continued, without heeding him, “times, I say, when to fight is wrong.”

“Yes!” cried the other. “This is one.”

“It is,” said Mark. “And at such times it takes more courage not to fight than to fight. When an army goes out to battle for the wrong the brave man stays at home. That is a time when it takes courage to be a coward. And Mr. Fischer----”

Mark took the other by the hand and met his gaze.

“Mr. Fischer, I have the courage to be a coward.”

There was silence after that, except for a muttered “Oh!” from Texas. Mark had said his say, and Fischer could think of nothing.

“Mr. Mallory,” he demanded at last, “suppose you let me do the refusing?”

“It would be best for me to do it,” said Mark, with decision. “Disgrace would be unbearable for you. You have your duty to your class; I have no duty to any one but myself. And moreover, I am a plebe, cut by everybody already and pledged to fight every one. To fight them a few times more will not hurt. And I really like to defy them. So just leave it to me.”

That was the end of the talk. Fischer sat and looked at Mark a few moments more, feeling an admiration he did not try to express. But when he arose to go the admiration was in the grip of his hand.

“Mr. Mallory,” he said. “You do not realize what you attempt. But you may rest assured of one thing. I shall never forget this, never as long as I live. Good-night.”

And as the captain’s figure strode up the street Mark turned and put his hands on Texas’ shoulders.

“Old fellow,” said he, “and have you any courage?”

“Say,” protested Texas, solemnly, “I’ll fight----”

“I don’t mean that kind of courage,” said Mark. “I mean courage of the eye, and the heart. Courage of the mind that knows it’s right and cares for nothing else. I mean the courage to be called a coward?”

“I dunno,” stammered Texas, looking uneasy. Poor Texas had never thought of that kind of courage. “I ain’t very sho’,” he said, “’bout lettin’ anybody call me a coward.”

“That is what I mean to do,” said Mark. “I mean to let them call it, and look them in the eye and laugh. And we’ll see what comes of it. I won’t fight Fischer, and they can’t make me. The more they taunt me, the better I’ll like it. When they get through perhaps I’ll get a chance to show them how much of a coward I am.”

With which resolution Mark turned away and prepared for bed.