Weeks passed away and the strange fact presented itself that the cadet midshipman, who was devotedly studious, thorough in every duty devolving upon him, perfect in drill and courteous to all, yet kept his list of demerit marks steadily increasing against him, a circumstance that could only end in one way.
Pranks were played, and time and again the guilty one was said to be Mark Merrill, for he was the one who seemed to be leading two lives, as it were, secretly a wild one, openly a perfect one.
Half-smoked cigars were found by the officer of inspection in his room, and when he asserted he never smoked them, as proof against him was a box of perfectos nearly empty.
Upon another occasion the inspector found a bottle that had contained whisky in Merrill’s room, and there was enough left in it to prove that it had contained the real old beverage of the Kentucky colonels.
In many other ways had seeming proof been brought against Mark Merrill that he was not all that he professed to be, and many predicted that he would take his departure from the United States Naval Academy before very long.
But one afternoon the corps were assembled, and, to the surprise of all, the demerits against the cadets were read out openly.
Here and there a name was called which held no demerit mark against it, but when the adjutant came to the name of Mark Merrill he paused, and a moment of suspense followed.
Then came the reading of the number which was known as the “Fatal Figures.”
Beyond that number no cadet could go, and Mark Merrill’s face became deadly pale as he heard the calling out of the fatal figures. Other names followed, until the whole roll of the corps had been called, and no one else came within startling distance of the fatal figures.
“Cadet Mark Merrill to the front!” came the adjutant’s command, for that officer already had his orders.