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——”