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.