CHAPTER XVII.
"A LIAR AND A COWARD" Long, indeed, did the memory of that hop linger with Cadet Dick Prescott.
It had come as the fitting, cheering ending of his great trouble---the hardest trouble that had assailed him, or could assail him, at the United States Military Academy.
"Well, you've been vindicated, anyway," muttered Greg cheerily, one day.

"So you needn't look as thoughtful as you do half of the time these present days." "Have I been vindicated, Greg ?" asked Dick gravely.
"What did the court say?
And you're still wearing the uniform that Uncle Sam gave you, aren't you?
"Vindication, Greg, means something more that a court-martial verdict of acquittal." "What more do you want ?" "Greg, the verdicts of all the courts-martial sitting between here and Manila wouldn't make some of the men of this corps believe that I innocent." "G'wan!" retorted Cadet Holmes impatiently.
"I see it, Greg, old chum, if you don't." "You're morbid, old ramrod!" "Greg, you know the cheery greeting, in passing, that one man here often gives another when he likes and trusts that man.

Well, some of own classmates that used to give me the glad hail seem to be thinking about something else, now, when they pass me." "Who are they ?" demanded Greg, his fists doubling.
"You'd provoke a fight, if I told you," retorted Dick.

"This isn't a matter to fight about." "Then you don't know much about fighting subjects," grumbled Cadet Holmes, as he leaned back and opened his book of everlasting mathematics.
"Let me see, Greg; have you any show to get out of the goats in math. ?" "I'm in hopes to get out and step into the next section above," replied Greg.

"I've been working hard enough." "Then you'd better waste no thoughts on pugilism.