Читать книгу A West Point Treasure; Or, Mark Mallory's Strange Find онлайн

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“I hesitate to give an original person like you advice. You never heeded what I gave you anyway, but went right ahead in your own contrariness to do what you pleased. I guess you were right. But I want to warn you a little. By your unheard-of daring in going to that hop you have incurred the enmity of not only the yearlings, whom you have beaten at every turn, but also of the powerful first class as well. And they will never stop until they subdue you. I don’t know what they’ll try, but it will be something desperate, and you must stand the consequences. You’ll probably have to take turns fighting every man in the class. When I come back I expect to find you buried six feet deep in court-plaster.”

Mark looked up from the letter for a moment, and smiled.

“I wish the dear old chump could see me now,” he said.

Wicks’ prediction seemed nearly fulfilled. Mark’s face was bruised and bandaged; one shoulder was still immovable from a dislocation, and when he moved any other part of himself he did it with a cautious slowness that told of sundry aching joints.