The approach of spring leaves but little time for pleasure. Drills are resumed after study hours, followed by parade and guard mounting, then more study hours after supper. The Battalions must be whipped into shape for June week; each class must be given drills to prepare the individuals for their coming task in June. Many things occupy the cadets’ attention. The First Classmen can think of little else except graduation. They are busy looking over samples of uniforms, boots, civilian clothing, or ordering same, or trying on uniforms. Some few have the added responsibility of planning for their approaching marriage. Naturally, the interest of First Classmen in cadet activities begins to wane. The Second Class anticipate their First Class camp when the reins of power pass to them, the Yearlings dream and dream and dream of furlough. Every spring evening during the half-hour after supper they gather upon Battle Monument to sing their furlough songs. Little snatches float across the Plain, partly unintelligible, but from which the words “love” and “girl” and “moon,” sung with greater emphasis apparently, can be clearly distinguished. Only the “call to quarters” drags them back to earth, whereupon with a vociferous “Yea! Furlo-o-o-o!” they break up the meeting and march back to barracks, arm in arm, singing of the pleasures to come when they will leave the Academy for two months and return to the bosom of their families. Not least of the pleasures at West Point is the camaraderie. There are always plenty of friends to be had, fine manly fellows with clean thoughts, affectionate and kind. A cadet rarely fully appreciates what this comradeship means until he is about to graduate. Then he reflects upon his four years spent in the society of so many fine men, and he feels a poignant regret at leaving their midst. The recollections of the hardships endured and overcome together, of the mutual confidences, of the sympathy when needed, of little sacrifices made for him, fill him with tenderness and sadness. He finds it hard to say good-bye to the truest friends that he will ever have. The last few months, however, are so filled with duties and obligations that he has few moments for reflection. Before he knows it June and graduation are upon him. He then attends his own Graduation Ball. Just prior to the last dance, once again the First Class assembles in the center of the room, gives its class yell followed by the three cries: “Never again! Never again! Never again!” A little lump comes in his throat as the echo dies away. Never again will he be a cadet at West Point. A yell that has heretofore been most musical has all of a sudden become most melancholy. Never again! CHAPTER XI STRENGTHENING THE MORAL FIBER