On the Trail of Geronimo — page 15: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ON TH& fRAiuL OF GERONIMO. a The upper classmen showed us little merey. They assumed fierce airs, and thundered all sorts of terrible reproois when we forgot the “ Mr.,” or failed to turn the thumbs out or salute, or omitted one of a score of other minor points. We had to play the servant to those lordly gen- tlemen, and sing and dance for their amusement. But the hazing was mild, and sometimes we had to laugh at our own performances. Besides, we had the consolation of knowing that one of these days we would emerge from the plebe shell and become upper classmen, and then we would take it out of the unfortunate fellows who came alter alter us. And didn’t we do it? But I must not be too reminiscent, for I have set out to tell something about another cadet who was at the Academy at the same time as myself, though in another class. Dick Whitcomb was precisely seventeen years old on the memorable 28th of August when he walked with a sturdy step up the hill from the steamboat landing near the present small station on the West Shore railroad. One hundred others beside himself successfully passed the physical and mental examination, and took up the course of ComCcoookks (C0) mM