We had quite a lengthy conversation about the fine appearance of the cadets, their forms, so straight and manly, evoking our greatest admiration. This, alas! was our only conversation on any subject. The gentleman discovered ere long that he too was prejudiced, and thus one by one they "cut" me, whether for prudential reasons or not I can not presume to say. I went into the office one day, and standing uncovered at about the middle of the room, in the position of the soldier, saluted and thus addressed a cadet officer present: "Candidate Flipper, United States Military Academy, reports his entrance into this office, sir." "Well, what do you want?" was the rather gruff reply. "I desire permission to visit Smith, sir," answered I, thoughtlessly saying "Smith," instead of "Mr" or "Cadet Smith." He instantly sprang from his seat into rather close proximity to my person and angrily yelled: "Well, sir, I want to hear you say 'Mr. Smith.' I want you to understand, sir, he is a cadet and you're a 'plebe,' and I don't want to see such familiarity on your part again, sir," putting particular emphasis on "Mr." Having thus delivered himself he resumed his seat, leaving me, I imagine, more scared than otherwise. "What do you want?" asked he again, after a pause of a moment or so. "Permission to visit Mr. Smith." Without condescending to notice for the time my request he gave the interview a rather ludicrous turn, I thought, by questioning me somewhat after this manner: "Can you dance, Mr. Flipper?" Having answered this to his entire satisfaction, he further asked: "Expect to attend the hops this summer?" "Oh no, sir," replied I, smiling, as he also was, for I had just discovered the drift of his questions. After mischievously studying my countenance for a moment, he returned to the original subject and queried, "Where do you want to go?" I told him. "Well, get out of my sight." I considered the permission granted, and hastily withdrew to take advantage of it. Between breakfast and supper those of us who had been there at least a day had quite a pleasant time. We were not troubled with incessant inspections or otherwise. We either studied for examination or walked around the grounds. At or near seven o'clock, the time of retreat parade, we were formed near our barracks and inspected. Our ranks were opened and the cadet lieutenant inspected our clothing and appearance generally. A not infrequent occurrence on these occasions was: "Well, mister, what did you shave with--a shoehorn?" At this we would smile, when the lieutenant, sergeant, or corporal would jump at us and yell: "Wipe that smile off your face, sir! What do you mean, sir, by laughing in ranks?" If any one attempted to reply he was instantly silenced with-- "Well, sir, don't reply to me in ranks." The inspection would be continued. Some one, unable to restrain himself--the whole affair was so ridiculous-- would laugh right out in ranks. He was a doomed man.