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.