# Dick Hamilton's Cadet Days/Chapter 30

CHAPTER XXX
A BROADSWORD COMBAT
"Well, Nephew Richard, I've been waiting some time for you," said Uncle Ezra Larabee a little later, when Dick, having gotten out of his suit and donned his cadet uniform, went into the reception room. I've been here for some time, and very likely I've lost my train, but I couldn't go back without seeing you."
"I'm sorry I kept you so long, Uncle Ezra," replied Dick, "but you see I was in a baseball game, and I couldn't leave until we won. It was very important to win."
"Stuff and nonsense!" exclaimed the old man. "Baseball is a dangerous and wicked game. It leads to all sorts of trouble. When I was a boy we played such sensible games as tag and blindman's buff. Baseball! The idea!"
"The cadets of Kentfield would look pretty playing tag," thought Dick, but he did not say anything.
"I have some bad news for you, Nephew Richard," went on Uncle Ezra. "I suppose you wonder what it is."
"I know."
​"You know?"
"Yes, Glen told me."
"Oh, he must be the young man whom I was talking to. Well, I regret very much to be the bearer of such ill tidings," went on Mr. Larabee, "but, if you are hoping that it is not true, you are much mistaken. I received word from New York yesterday that the bank in which was most of your father's wealth, as well as your own, which your mother, my sister, so foolishly left you——"
"Sir!" cried Dick, for he could not bear to hear his mother spoken of in that way.
"Well, I think it foolish to leave a youth so much money," said Mr. Larabee, "and now my judgment is confirmed. You are no longer a millionaire."
"I don't know as I care much," said Dick coolly. "My money didn't do as much as I expected it would."
"Foolish, perverse youth," murmured his uncle. "But you must make a change in your plans. You can no longer stay at this expensive school. You had better pack up your things and come home with me to Dankville. I will look after you until your father comes home from Europe. Doubtless I may be able to get you a position in a woolen mill in which I am interested. If you hurry we can take the late train, and I will be able to use the excursion ticket I bought."
Dick considered matters a moment. Then he said:
​"I don't think I'll go with you, Uncle Ezra."
"Not go with me? Why, what will you do?"
"Stay here and finish out the spring term. I'm just beginning to enjoy himself. There are only a few weeks left."
"But how can you? You have very little, if any, money."
"My tuition and board are paid up to the end of this term," said Dick calmly. "I have considerable money on deposit in the Kentfield bank, that I drew out from my funds at Hamilton Corners, when I came here. That will last me for some time. I think I prefer staying here to going back to—to Dankville."
"Well, of all the foolish, idiotic, senseless, rash proceedings I ever heard of!" exclaimed Uncle Ezra. "The idea! You will stay here and use up what little money is saved from the wreck of your fortune! Why, maybe you could get a rebate on what has been paid for board and tuition."
"I shouldn't think of asking for it," said Dick. "No, I think I'll stick it out here."
There was a movement at the door, and something came into the room, something that slid up to Dick, and began wiggling at his feet.
"Quiet, Grit, old boy," he said.
"Is that your bulldog?" asked Uncle Ezra.
"Yes; he was too lonesome at home without me, so I sent for him. He stays in the stable."
"Another foolish and useless expense," ​murmured the old man. "Oh, what is the world coming to!"
Dick didn't know, so he didn't answer.
"Think well," went on Mr. Larabee. "You had better come home with me. I can get you work in the woolen mill."
"I'll stay here," replied Dick firmly.
"Then I wash my hands of you!" exclaimed the aged man. "Never appeal to me for help! I am done with you! Of all the foolish, thoughtless, rash youths I ever met, you are the worst; and your father——"
What Mr. Larabee would have said about Mr. Hamilton he never finished, for Grit, hearing the voice of a man he considered his enemy, made a rush from under the table where he was lying, and growled as though he was going to sample Uncle Ezra's legs.
"Take that brute away!" exclaimed Dick's crabbed relative, but before the order could be executed Mr. Larabee turned and fled from the room, Grit pursuing him as far as the hall.
"I guess we've seen the last of him for a while," mused Dick. "Eh, Grit, old boy?"
The bulldog nearly shook off his stump of a tail.
"Well, I guess I had better write to dad, and find out how bad things really are," he went on. "Still, there's no use worrying. I got along all right before I knew I was a millionaire, and I guess I can now when I'm not."
​Someone looked in the reception room. It was Glen.
"I say, Hamilton," he remarked, "the boys are looking all over for you. They want you to lead a procession. We're going to have a grand celebration, burn the uniforms, and break training to celebrate the victory. Hurry up!"
"This is worth losing one's money for," thought Dick, as he took his place at the head of the procession of merry, shouting, laughing cadets. "I'm getting to be popular, I guess."
Indeed, whether it was his victory on the diamond or the loss of his money, it would be hard to say, but, at any rate, more cadets made friends with Dick that night than had done so in his whole previous time at Kentfield.
But though Dick had won the hearts of the baseball nine and their friends, he was still far from being one of the really popular lads in the school. Dutton and his cronies held aloof from him, and many followed their example.
But, unexpectedly, there came a great change in Dick's life, and Dutton was partly responsible for it. Dick and some of his companions were at broadsword exercise on horseback one day, while, on the farther side of the cavalry plain, there was a class drilling in artillery, under the direction of Dutton. Dick was fencing with Lyndon Butler, when suddenly Dutton's steed, frightened by the discharge of a cannon near it, reared, throwing the young major off.
​Dutton's foot caught in the stirrup, and he was dragged along, unable to release himself, while six artillery horses, drawing a heavy gun, dashed down the field and seemed about to collide with the youthful major's animal.
Dick saw a chance to save his enemy, and turned his horse quickly, to make a dash. So rapid was his movement that Butler's sword gave him a gash in the face, Dick forgetting, in the excitement of the moment, to guard himself. With the blood streaming from a cut on his cheek Dick urged his horse at a gallop until he had caught Dutton's runaway mount. He did it only just in time, for, as he pulled the beast, still dragging the young major, to one side, the artillery steeds dashed over the spot. Dutton would have been killed but for Dick's prompt act.
Major Webster rode up quickly, and was glad to find that neither Dick nor Dutton was seriously hurt.
"Who caught my horse?" asked Dutton, as he struggled to his feet. "The last I remember was seeing him running toward the artillery animals, and I made up my mind there'd be quite a smash when they met."
"They didn't meet, thanks to Dick Hamilton," said the elderly major. "He stopped your horse just in time."
"And got a nasty cut into the bargain," added another cadet.
Dick was beginning to feel a trifle dizzy. He ​turned aside. Dutton took a step forward, in spite of his strained ankle.
"Hamilton," he said, and there was a husky note in his voice.
Dick turned back.
"Hamilton—I—er—I—I—will you shake hands?" asked Button suddenly, and he seemed much affected.
Dick grasped the outstretched hand, and the two, one of whom had been an unrelenting enemy of the other, looked into each others' eyes.
"Hamilton," went on Dutton, still holding Dick's hand, "I don't know how to thank you. Will you—will you forgive me?"
"Oh—there's nothing to forgive," said Dick.
"Yes, there is," said Dutton huskily. "I've treated you—I've been a cad, that's what I have! I didn't like you at first—I thought you were proud of your millions. I didn't like the idea of you being here—I was jealous, I guess. I wanted to make you quit. It was I who tied your dog to the saluting gun, and tried to throw the blame on you. I've done other mean things. I—I——"
"Forget it!" said Dick so heartily that the other cadets laughed, and thus broke what was becoming quite a strain.
Major Webster, when he heard the beginning of Dutton's confession, walked away. He was a wise old soldier, and he knew that the lads could best settle those things among themselves.
​"And you don't bear me any grudge?" asked Dutton, after a pause.
"Not a bit. But you'd better get back to the hospital and have your ankle looked after," for Dutton was limping.
"Oh, that isn't anything. It might just as well have been my head. But, say, you got a nasty dig."
"Only a scratch." replied Dick with a happy laugh. He would have welcomed another one if it could have insured him such an outcome as had followed this.
"I guess we'd better take you both to the hospital," said Butler, who had ridden up, fearful lest he had seriously injured Dick.
And thither the two wounded cadets were taken, though their stay there was brief.
It was a week after the sensational rescue of Dutton that a meeting of the exclusive society of the Sacred Pig was held in the cosy little clubhouse which had been built by contributions and donations of the cadets themselves or their fathers. Dutton arose and proposed Dick for membership, the election being unanimous.
The next day being Saturday, was an occasion for the cadets enjoying considerable freedom. It was after the evening parade, when Dick and some of his new chums had received permission to go to town to a theatrical performance, that Major Webster sent for our hero.
"I'll not keep you a moment, Hamilton," he ​said, "as I know your friends are waiting for you. But you remember that battered marksman's medal that Toots had, and which you requested me to investigate for you?"
"Yes; have you any information about it?"
"I have. I sent it to a friend of mine, an officer at Fort Laramie, Wyoming, and he has just returned it. With it he sends some surprising news."
"What is it?"
"That medal was issued to Corporal William Handlee, a number of years ago."
"Corporal Handlee—the missing soldier—Captain Handlee's son?"
"The very same."
"Why, how—where did Toots get it, I wonder? Is it possible that he——"
"We must ask him. I will question him tonight, and let you know the result. Hark, there he comes now."
Someone was coming down the corridor, whistling the lively strains of "Yankee Doodle."
"That's Toots," said Dick with a smile. "I wonder how he came to have Handlee's medal. Can he possibly be——"
But at that instant there came a series of excited shouts from outside.
"Fire! Fire! Fire!"
Dick and the major rushed to the window.
"Fire! Fire!" shouted Toots, as he ran back along the corridor.
​Dick saw a black pall of smoke, through which shot red tongues of flame.
"It's the society house of the Sacred Pig," he cried.
And it was from the windows of the meeting place of the cadets' society that the flames were shooting.