The quick retort made by Mark Merrill to Winslow Dillingham’s insulting
words brought a general laugh, for the cadets were quick to appreciate
wit and sarcasm, even if directed at one of their number.
Cadet Dillingham had offered the insult gratuitously, and he had gotten
a reply that offended him deeply.
The laugh of his comrades angered him the more, and stung by the
words of the stranger and their enjoying them, he lost all control of
himself, and sprang before Mark Merrill in a threatening attitude.
Mark had not advanced a step since landing.
He stood upon the wall where he had stopped upon ascending from his
boat, and he simply paused to ask a polite question, and received an
insulting response.
The first insult he had accepted in silence, but the second one he had
been stung to reply to.
He saw at once that he would have to fight his way--that whatever the
“future admirals” might be considered by outsiders, they were merciless
to a stranger who came into their midst.
Quickly over the crowd he had run his eyes, and he discerned with
intuition that his retort had put him in favor with some of those who
were lovers of fair play.
He had turned the laugh upon Midshipman Dillingham, and he was
satisfied and content to drop all ill-feeling.
But not so with the irate cadet.
His own attempt at smartness had gotten him worsted thus far, and he
must turn the laugh to protect himself from his own comrades.
He knew well the position he held, that many stood in awe of him on
account of his brute strength and admitted courage.
Now he was angry, and he intended to resent physically what he felt he
could not do in a war of words.
So he squared himself before Mark Merrill, and hissed forth, while his
eyes blazed with anger:
“Retract your insulting words, sir, or I shall chastise you right here!”
“Do you mean it, mate?” Mark asked, in an innocent way.
The crowd smiled audibly at this, and Winslow Dillingham grew whiter
with fury, while he savagely said:
“Yes, I do mean it. Ask my pardon, or take the consequences, sir!”
“What are the consequences?”
“A thrashing.”
“Well, I don’t wish to be whipped, so if you retract your insult to me,
I’ll ask pardon for what I said.”
“I retract nothing.”
“And you will insist upon thrashing me?”
“Yes.”
“What with?”
This was too much for Cadet Dillingham, and he aimed a savage blow at
Mark’s face.
It was cleverly caught, and quicker than a flash Mark Merrill had
seized the cadet in his arms and hurled him into the water with the
words:
“You are too hot to argue with, so cool off!”
With a splash Cadet Dillingham went beneath the surface, when the cry
arose:
“He cannot swim a stroke,” and the laughter on every lip was checked.
“Is that so that he cannot swim? Then I’ll haul him out as I threw him
in.” And with a bound Mark Merrill went over the sea-wall and seized
the drowning youth in his strong arms, while he struck out for a
landing, with the words:
“All right, mate, the ducking has cooled off the temper of both of us.”
Winslow Dillingham made no reply then; but as he was hauled out by
Herbert Nazro, a dark-faced, handsome fellow of the first class, he
said, as he turned to Mark Merrill:
“I humbly ask your pardon, my friend, and will escort you to the
commandant and report my own rude behavior and its just punishment.”
“I thought there was manhood in you, mate, but there is no need of
reporting anything. I have a dry suit aboard my craft, and will soon
rig up and return ashore, when maybe some of these gentlemen will show
me my course.”
“We’ll march you there in force, sir, for somehow you’ve caught on in
great shape with us baby tars,” said a cadet, stepping forward and
offering his hand, while he added:
“My name is Herbert Nazro, a first-class man.”
“And here’s my hand, sir, as a friend,” said Cadet Captain Byrd Bascomb.
“Don’t overlook my extended grip,” cried Cadet Sergeant Neil Carrol.
And so it went on until Cadet Lieutenant Frank Latrobe seemed to be
suddenly inspired with a thought for he asked, eagerly:
“I say, my friend, are you not the youth who was appointed by the
President?”
“I was appointed at large, sir, yes.”
“And it was for services rendered, was it not?”
“It was from the kindness of the Secretary of the Navy and Commodore
Lucien, rather.”
“You are the man we have been told of. Go aboard your flagship, put on
your dry togs, and we’ll march you to the commandant at a quick step.”
The cadets showed that this advice chimed in with their humor, and
springing into his boat, Mark sent it flying back toward the schooner,
while the dripping Dillingham was surrounded by a squad of friends,
to hide his condition, and marched off to his room to also get on dry
clothes.
“Keep him there, Nazro, until I can get ready, for I wish to be in
the procession,” said Winslow Dillingham, as he dove into his room to
change his clothes, glad to escape the argus-eyed officers about the
buildings and grounds.