This position shall be wholly without constraint. While eating the body shall be erect on the hips, inclining slightly forward, elbows off the table. When not eating he will sit at ease in his chair, erect or leaning back as he desires. His forearms may be kept in his lap, or his hand or hands may rest easily upon the table. At no time in the Mess Hall shall he tilt his chair back or elevate his feet, or turn his chair away from the table. Whenever a cadet is spoken to in the Mess Hall, he will look at the person speaking to him. But who cares, this first meal, about the position at table? Nothing matters except to satisfy that ravenous appetite! Dinner over, the tragedy of the afternoon is enacted. West Point pays no attention to the style of hair cutting preferred by the aspirant for military honors. All cadets must be shorn alike. The new cadets are consequently marched to the barber shop wherefrom a long line of shaggy headed plebes protrudes like some serpent caught in a noose. What a sight is that barber shop! Hair everywhere: black hair, red hair, yellow hair, and some that resembles sun-burnt vanilla. Thick wavy locks, the despair of some distant damsel, drop dejectedly one by one. The hair must be kept short at all times so that it is impossible to distinguish at West Point cadets with histrionic leanings, or those poetically and musically inclined. No rest yet in sight, this busiest of days. First the rooms must be arranged strictly according to the Regulations--a place for everything and everything in its place. Dozens of times are the belts piled, only to be pulled down and thrown on the floor by the Wrathful Tribe detailed to see that the task is correctly done. The bedding suffers the same ignominious treatment, for the slightest irregularity in arrangement is met with severe punishment. It seems hard and discouraging, but, later on, the reason for such strict compliance with orders appears. Only by constant repetition do new cadets learn to do a thing thoroughly. [Illustration: The Interior of a Cadet’s Room in Barracks] Tired out in body and brain, Mr. Ducrot sits on the edge of his bed for a moment’s rest, when: “New cadets turn out promptly!” echoes through the hall of the Division. Not a moment is lost in complying with this command. He rushes down the stairs in a bewildered sort of way wondering what calamity is about to befall. “Hurry up, Mr. Dumbguard, what do you mean by coming out here late?” greets his appearance upon the stoop of the barracks. From all the divisions new cadets are scampering to their places in ranks along the cement walk.