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.