He came dressed as gorgeously as Ralph Rackstraw of H. M. S. Pinafore, and he had not been abashed in the presence of their marine highnesses.
This was all wrong, very wrong, in their eyes.
What right had a new man to know the stem from the stern, the forecastle from the quarter-deck of a vessel, when entering the academy?
He came there to find out, to be taught, and he must start on even terms with all other verdant youths.
He attacked the academy from the sea, boarded, as it were, the sacred grounds over their marine stone bulwarks, giving the sentry at the gate the go-by, ignoring the existence of the officer of the day, and, confronting them with a natty tarpaulin set upon the side of his head, with spotless duck trousers, a sailor shirt with embroidered collar, and a sash about his slender waist, had coolly said that his name was Mark Merrill, and he wished to be directed to the quarters of the commandant.
This was too much for Winslow Dillingham, who took it upon himself to play the part of “Smart Aleck,” and he looked the stranger over with a cool, insolent stare, and said, in a drawling way:
“Beg pardon, but you said your name was Jack Hayseed, I believe?”
“I said that my name was Mark Merrill, and asked to be directed to the quarters of the commandant,” and Mark kept his temper admirably.
“Well, Mr. Pork Barrell, for such, I believe you said your name was, I will answer for the commandant that he wants no fish to-day.”
“Ah! then you are the commandant’s cook, so should know; but as I never argue with servants, I’ll seek your master.”