"Master Prescott, what are you doing?" The voice of Mr. E. Dutton Jones rasped out rather sharply, jarring on the generally studious air of the eighth-grade room of the Central Grammar School. "What were you doing, Master Prescott?" repeated the stern voice of the principal. Dick Prescott had glanced up, somewhat startled and confused. By this time every boy's and girl's eyes had turned away from text-books toward Dick Prescott. "I was whispering, sir," confessed Dick. "Oh, was that all?" demanded the somewhat ironical voice of Mr. E. Dutton Jones, more commonly known as "Old Dut."

"WHEW, but it's hot here " grumbled Sergeant Noll Terry, of the United States Army. "That's an odd complaint to hear from a young man who served so actively for two years in the tropics," laughed Mrs. Overton, a short, plump, middle-aged matron. "Well, Mother, it is a hot day," put in Sergeant Hal Overton quietly. "Yes, it is," agreed Hal's mother, "though you two, who came from the Philippines the very picture of health can't feel the weather to-day much. New Jersey isn't in the tropics."

AS Hen Dutcher came up to a group of boys on the ice, and slowed down his speed, he stuck the point of his right skate in the ice to bring himself to a full stop. "Huh You fellows think you're some smart on fancy skating, don't you?" he demanded rather scornfully. "No," replied Dave Darrin shortly. "You been showing off a lot, then." "Hen," grimaced Dave, "I'm afraid you're going to miss your calling in life." "Didn't know I had any," grunted Hen. "Yes, you have; one of your own choosing, too." "What is it?" asked Hen curiously. "You're a walking anvil chorus."

"We've solved one problem at last, Noll," declared Sergeant Hal Overton seriously. "Only one?" demanded young Sergeant Terry quizzically. But Hal, becoming only the more serious, went on earnestly: "At last we begin to understand just what the 'lure of the Orient' means For years I've been reading about the Orient, and the way that this part of the world charms men and holds them. Now, that we are here on the spot, I begin to understand it all. Noll, my boy, the East is a great and wonderful place I wonder if I shall ever tire of it?" "I believe I could tire of it in time," remarked...

"I'll wager you ten dollars that my fly gets off the mirror before yours does." "I'll take that bet, friend." The dozen or so of waiting customers lounging in Abe Morris's barber shop looked up with signs of renewed life. "I'll make it twenty," continued the first speaker. "I follow you," assented the second speaker.

"Look, Tom There is a real westerner " Harry Hazelton's eyes sparkled, his whole manner was one of intense interest. "Eh?" queried Tom Reade, turning around from his distant view of a sharp, towering peak of the Rockies. "There's the real thing in the way of a westerner," Harry Hazelton insisted in a voice in which there was some awe.

Luis Montez, mine owner, stood on the broad veranda in front of his handsome home, looking out over the country sweeping away to the eastward. "Gentlemen, you are in a land of golden promise," began Senor Montez, with a smile and a bow. "I should call it more than promise. Why not? My beloved country, Mexico, has been shipping gold to the world ever since the days of Montezuma."

"I wish I had brought my electric flash out here with me," muttered Harry Hazelton uneasily. "I told you that you'd better do it," chuckled Tom Reade. "But how could I know that the night would be pitch dark?" Harry demanded. "I don't know this gulf weather yet, and fifteen minutes ago the stars were out in full force. Now look at them "

"How do you feel, Dick As spruce as you did an hour ago " Candidate Greg Holmes put the question with a half-nervous laugh. He spoke in a whisper, too, as if to keep his agitation from reaching the notice of any of the score or more of other young men in the room of Mr. Ward, the aged notary at West Point.

"I say you did " cried Fred Ripley, hotly. Dick Prescott's cheeks turned a dull red as he replied, quietly, after swallowing a choky feeling in his throat: "I have already told you that I did not do it." "Then who did do the contemptible thing?" insisted Ripley, sneeringly. Fully forty boys, representing all the different classes at the Gridley High School, stood looking on at this altercation in the school grounds. Half a dozen of the girls, too, hovered in the background, interested, or curious, though not venturing too close to what might turn out to be a fight in hot blood.