On Monday morning the candidates flocked by scores to the room in the Naval Academy where they were to be examined. After the inspection of their appointments each candidate was assigned to a numbered desk. Ralph Osborn found himself at a desk numbered 153. On the desk was a pad of paper on which he was to do his work, pencils, and the written examination questions which this first day were in arithmetic, and algebra as far as quadratics. Ralph picked the examination paper up and eagerly scanned it; but in a moment a bell rang, and he heard a loud cry of: “Attention,” uttered in an authoritative manner by an officer in lieutenant’s uniform, who said, when complete quiet existed: “Each candidate will number each sheet of his work in the upper left-hand corner with the number of his desk. In no case will the candidate write his name on any sheet; when you have finished leave all your papers on your desk. Now go ahead with your work; you have four hours and you’ll need it.”

There was immediately a shuffle of papers and a stirring in seats as the candidates commenced their first test. Ralph Osborn looked the examination paper rapidly over, and a feeling of confidence came over him as he read. “It’s easy,” he said to himself; “I can do it all.”

He commenced to work rapidly and had just finished the first problem when his attention was attracted by some whispered imprecations close to, and just behind him. There at a desk numbered 155 was the candidate whom Ralph had seen riding behind a handsome pair of horses, but to whom he had never spoken.

It was Short; and his face was convulsed with rage, and blank with disappointment. In his two hands was clenched the examination paper. His eyes seemed to dart from their sockets. He looked utterly confounded.

Ralph was surprised but didn’t have any time to waste on the young man behind him, so he resumed his work. He had finished the third question when he felt his chair kicked from behind, and then heard a whispered voice say:

“Sh. Don’t look around. Lend me your papers; I wish to compare your answers with mine.”

“I’ll do nothing of the kind,” returned Ralph, indignantly.

When Ralph had finished the fourth question, he felt his chair kicked again, and then the whispered words:

“Let me have your papers for a moment. No one will see. The lieutenant is in the other end of the room. I’ll give you one hundred dollars if you’ll let me look at them.”

Ralph turned squarely around and deliberately eyed the young man who had made this dishonorable proposal. He was silent a moment and then in a low tone said: “How much did you pay for the examination you had stolen for you, you scoundrel? Speak to me again and I’ll report you.”

Short’s whole body trembled, and fierce hatred shone from his moody eyes. In his whole life he had never received such a defeat and such contemptuous treatment. His feelings were almost beyond his small powers of endurance, and this state of feeling was aggravated by a feeling of utter powerlessness. After that he made no further effort to speak to Ralph, and he was too far from the other candidates, and was also afraid to try to attract their attention.

Short tried to work but only made poor headway. Even had he been in a good humor he could not have passed the examination.

Ralph found the problems all easy and made rapid progress. After a while Short left his seat and approached the lieutenant in charge and asked him some trivial question. In returning, as he passed Ralph’s desk his eyes looked at the number 153, painted in white letters on the front of it, and a gleam of satisfaction passed over his face. “I’ll fix that fellow, the hound, if he leaves this room before I do,” he remarked to himself. After that Short worked fitfully, occasionally glancing up at Ralph. He noticed with much approval that Ralph apparently finished his work an hour before the time allowed had expired, and was impatient when Ralph started to read his papers over, deliberately stopping at some places to make corrections.

Half an hour before the time was up a number of the candidates had finished and were leaving the examination room. Ralph was one of these. He folded his papers neatly, placed them on one side of his desk, and left the room entirely confident he had passed the examination.

As soon as Ralph Osborn had left the room Short began to arrange his papers, and started to number each sheet. The number of his desk was 155, but instead of writing this number on the pages of his work, he wrote on each of them the number 153, which he had seen on Ralph’s desk. He then gathered his papers together and walked to the lieutenant in charge. “Shall I sign my name at the bottom?” he asked.

“No, number each page with your desk number,” was the reply.

Short returned to his desk, but just as he reached Ralph’s desk he apparently stumbled, and for a moment rested both of his hands on it, still holding his own papers. In doing this he attracted no one’s attention, but when he had straightened up he had Ralph’s papers in his hand. He had quickly substituted his own for Ralph’s papers and the papers left on Ralph’s desk, though numbered 153, were in reality Short’s. Short now carefully erased the upper part of the figure three, of the number 153, on each page of Ralph’s papers, and made a five out of it. He then carefully and neatly arranged these papers on his desk, and with an exultant feeling of success and gratified revenge, he left the room. He knew his own papers would never pass him, and rightly judged from the rapid way in which Ralph had worked that the latter would be successful.

The examinations were all finished Wednesday, and Ralph was confident he had passed, and therefore was exultant. But late that afternoon he received a telegram as follows:

“Your father has been seriously injured in an accident. But little hope. Come home at once.”

This was signed by his father’s friend, Mr. Spencer.

In anguish of grief and fear Ralph left by the next train; and late the next night was in Toledo but only to see the dear father in his coffin. The boy’s grief was pitiable. He felt he would never be comforted. The funeral was held two days later, and then the saddened young man returned to Annapolis. There was no question in his mind but what he had been completely successful in his examinations.

Upon his return, which was Monday, he immediately went into the Academy grounds and there met a young man, dressed in civilian’s clothes with uniform cap. He recognized him as a candidate he had known in the preparatory school, Bollup by name.

“Hello, Bollup,” said Ralph. “I see you’ve passed all right. I knew you would, in spite of the way you used to talk.”

“Thanks, Osborn,” returned Bollup. “I’m awfully sorry you didn’t get through. I hope you’ll get another appointment next year. That nine-tenths in math of yours was certainly a big surprise to me, and to you, too, I guess; you thought you had done so well in it.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Ralph, hastily. “I’m sure I passed in everything, but I couldn’t wait to see the marks; I had to go to my father’s funeral in Toledo.” And Ralph’s eyes filled with tears. “What do you mean about my nine-tenths in mathematics? Surely that wasn’t my mark; why, that’s utterly ridiculous.”

“Look here, old fellow,” said Bollup, uneasily, “I don’t want to be the one to spread bad news, but on the bulletin-board in main quarters, you are credited with having made nine-tenths only in math, and are marked as having been rejected for that reason by the Academic Board of the Academy.”

“My heavens,” ejaculated Ralph, thunderstruck at this information. “Look here, Bollup, there’s a mistake about that. I’ll bet I got over three-fifty on that math exam. Nine-tenths? Why that’s simply preposterous. Let’s look at that bulletin.”

It may here be remarked that at the Naval Academy marks range from 0, a total failure, to 4.00, which is perfect. 2.50, equal to 62 1/2 per cent, is the passing mark in all subjects.

Ralph and Bollup were soon standing before the bulletin-board and then Ralph realized that Bollup’s news was only too true.

“Too bad, old fellow,” commiserated Bollup. “I’m awfully sorry and disappointed.”

“There’s a mistake, I tell you,” returned Ralph, with staring eyes. “If my published mark had been two-thirty I might doubt my own judgment, but nine-tenths,—why that’s entirely impossible.”

“I do hope so, Osborn; but what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going direct to the superintendent. I don’t know what else to do.”

“What, the superintendent himself? He won’t see you. I wouldn’t dare to go to see him myself.”

“That’s just where I’m going,” said Ralph, determinedly, “and I’m going right away, too.”

In a few minutes Ralph was at the door of the superintendent’s office, and said to the orderly: “Will you ask the superintendent if he will please see Ralph Osborn on a matter of great importance?” A moment later he was told to walk in.

The distinguished officer greeted Ralph kindly. “I’m sorry you failed, Mr. Osborn,” he commenced. “I was so impressed with the way you handled that stolen examination affair that I wanted you to pass, and I personally ordered the result of your examination to be sent to me. You made excellent marks in everything except mathematics; had you made anything over a two in that I would have waived a slight deficiency. But with only a nine-tenths in mathematics it was impossible to pass you.”

“Sir,” said Ralph, “I wish to report that a great mistake has been made. I ought to have been given at least three-five on that examination. Of this I’m absolutely certain. I worked correctly nearly every problem. I compared my answers with those of other candidates and I can state positively that I made at least three-five on that examination. I cannot be mistaken in this matter.”

“The papers are marked independently by two different officers, Mr. Osborn; it’s not possible such a glaring mistake could be made by two different people.”

“I can’t explain it, sir; but I know I got the right answer to nearly all the questions.”

“Why have you been so late in reporting this matter?” inquired the superintendent, looking at him keenly.

“I have just learned it, sir. My father was killed in an accident and I left the day the examinations were finished and have just returned.” There was a break in Ralph’s voice as he spoke.

“I’m very sorry indeed. I’ll look into this matter. Be at my office at two o’clock.”

“Thank you, sir; I will.”

Ralph was there at the time appointed and was immediately called before the superintendent. “Mr. Osborn,” said the latter, “I have had your mathematical papers read over again by a third officer who did not know the original mark given them, and he marked them eight-tenths. He says they are very poor. I’m sorry, but I can do nothing more for you. Good-day, sir.”

There was an air of finality in the superintendent’s manner and voice.

“Sir,” said Ralph, now desperate, “I have to report that I answered nearly every question correctly,”—a look of displeasure crossed the superintendent’s face,—“I beg of you to let me see my papers.”

“I will do so immediately. Take a seat outside, please.” Then sending for his aide, a lieutenant, he said, “Telephone for the head of the department of mathematics, Professor Scott, to bring to my office immediately Candidate Ralph Osborn’s examination papers in mathematics.”

A few minutes later an officer came in with some papers in his hand. “Admiral, these are Candidate Osborn’s papers,” he said.

“Professor, will you please convince Mr. Osborn that those papers are worth no more than nine-tenths?” said the admiral, continuing his writing.

“That will be easy,” smiled the professor in reply. “Now, Mr. Osborn, see here.”

Ralph went eagerly to the professor’s side, and took the papers from his hand. “Oh!” he cried, in a tone that startled the professor and the superintendent. “Are these the papers, sir, which have caused my rejection?” he demanded in a breathless tone.

“Why, yes, of course they are; they are your papers.”

“They are not my papers, sir. That is not my work. The handwriting is not mine. I never saw these papers before, sir.” And turning to the admiral, his face aglow with excitement and indignation, he said, “Surely you will not keep me out of the Academy on account of this poor work which belongs to some other person.”

“These are your papers,” maintained the professor, looking indignant. “They were on your desk; each one, you see, is numbered 153, your number.”

“They are not my papers,” insisted Ralph, “and no person on earth can prove them to be. Sir, I request this matter be further investigated.”

“A mistake is impossible,” exclaimed the professor.

“Is it possible for an examination paper to be stolen before the examination occurs?” asked Ralph suddenly.

“By George, Mr. Osborn, we’ll look into this matter,” said the superintendent, now full of interest. “I’ll send for your other papers and compare the writing. But can you imagine how this could have happened?”

Then came vividly to Ralph’s mind the angry, revengeful face of the man behind him in the examination room the week before. Recalling the number of the desk back of his, a thought flashed through him.

“Yes, sir, I can,” he quietly said. “I can imagine how a person doing poorly could have marked his sheets with my desk number, and then could have exchanged his papers with mine, erased my desk number, and on my sheets write his own number. I would ask that the papers of number 155 be brought here.”