Scott Clemmons was not the only one who gave a sigh of relief when it
was known that Barney Breslin had to leave the academy.
Perhaps, however, the sigh of relief of the other cadets was from a
different motive than that which came from the bosom of Scott Clemmons.
The decision of the commandant, forwarded by special carrier to
Washington, was promptly approved by the Secretary of the Navy, and
Barney Breslin, awaiting at the hotel in Annapolis, found himself no
longer a cadet.
Not even Scott Clemmons dared call openly upon him to wish him _bon
voyage_ upon the stormy sea of life upon which he had embarked.
He left the town under cover of the darkness, and the corps breathed
more freely to know that the black sheep of their flock was gone.
As though to atone for his unfortunate connection with the accusation
against Mark Merrill, Scott Clemmons had sought out the wronged youth,
and frankly said:
“I say, Merrill, I’m deuced sorry for all that has happened, I am, ’pon
honor. Breslin was such an awkward lad I felt sorry for him, but I had
no idea that he was crooked, and he deserved even worse than you gave
him. But say, old shipmate, let us bury the hatchet between us and be
friends. We are rivals, I know, for first honors in our class, but
that should not make us foes, and here’s my hand in real friendship.”
This speech was delivered, for Clemmons was nothing, if not rhetorical,
oratorical and dramatic, in the presence of a dozen fellow cadets.
He would have considered it as seed sown in barren places, if he had
made his little speech to Mark Merrill alone.
The cadets present set it down as “very neat,” “deuced clever,” and
“quite the correct thing, you know.”
But Mark Merrill did not seem in the least impressed.
He heard Clemmons with a patience and silence that was almost
embarrassing.
Then, without seeming to see the extended hand, he responded in his
quiet way:
“Clemmons, what Breslin did he has suffered for, and your seemingly
frank offer of friendship under other circumstances I might appreciate;
but I am no hypocrite, and I will not profess a friendship I do not
feel. I shall treat you with respect, yes, and shall exact the same
treatment from you, but friendship between us is not to be thought of,
as in your heart, you know as well as I do, that it is not sincere.”
Clemmons felt sorry that he had not gone to Merrill in private, for the
rejection of his proffered friendship cut him to the quick.
His face flushed, then paled, and he said in a tone of suppressed
feeling:
“So be it, sir, if you desire it,” and he wheeled on his heel and
walked away.
The cadets present felt that there was an undercurrent between the
two, a feeling that they were not in touch with, and somehow they
decided that Mark Merrill’s response left him master of the situation,
notwithstanding the very manly _amende honorable_ of Scott Clemmons,
as it had at first seemed to them.
That Mark was jealous of Clemmons as a rival for honors they did not
for a moment believe.
He had some secret cause of bitterness against Clemmons, and he was of
too manly a nature to play the hypocrite, they decided.
Of course the story of the friendly offer by Scott Clemmons and its
rejection by Mark Merrill became known to the whole corps, and finally
reached the ear of the commandant.
A cadet who happened to be present when the commandant heard the story,
engaged in some work at a table near, told what he had overheard.
The commandant had said:
“Merrill was wise; yes, and right, too.”
The manner in which Mark Merrill had shown himself both a “slugger”
and a wrestler in knocking out and giving a fall to Barney Breslin,
convinced the corps that there was a latent power in the youth that
should not be allowed to lie dormant.
He had shown himself a most clever gymnast, but always in a modest
way, and when special attention was attracted to him, cadets came to
understand that he was as thorough an athlete as he was a student.
This became an undisputed fact when the young sailor quietly carried
off the prizes from his class one day for feats of strength, and
captured the gold badge as the “best-drilled man in his company.”
When the warm days of spring came, a swimming match was arranged among
a score of “champions,” and Mark entered the contest, while, to the
surprise of all, Scott Clemmons went around among his fellows quietly
taking wagers in favor of the sailor lad from Maine.
The result proved his wisdom, or that he had heard the stories told of
the “boy fish,” as the lad had been called at home, for as far as Mark
was concerned, it was no race, as he swam nearly half the time under
water, rounded the turning stake and came back home at an easy stroke,
distancing all the others.
Scott Clemmons smiled blandly, and said to his chum, Harbor Driggs:
“I told you to go on Merrill.”
“Yes, but Ferd Randall was in the race, and----”
“He was not in the race with Merrill, as you now know. I tell you the
fellow is a wonder in the water, and the surgeon said he must have a
double pair of lungs.”
“He certainly played with Ferd Randall.”
“He did not show what he could do. Why, at home they called him the
‘boy fish.’”
“Say, Clemmons,” said Ferd Randall suddenly.
“Well?”
“I wonder if he’s going to do the same way in his class at examination?”
“No, for I am in the class, you know,” was the conceited response.
“That’s so, I hadn’t thought of that,” replied Randall, and Clemmons
wondered if he was in earnest or sarcastic.