On Guard — Upton Sinclair

"A letter for me, did you say?" The speaker was a tall, handsome lad, a plebe at the West Point Military Academy. At the moment he was gazing inquiringly out of the tent door at a small orderly. The boy handed him an envelope, and the other glanced at it. "Cadet Mark Mallory, West Point, N. Y.," was the address. "I guess that's for me," he said. "Thank you. Hello in there, Texas Here's a letter from Wicks Merritt."