“You are too hot to argue with, so cool off!”
With a splash Cadet Dillingham went beneath the surface, when the cry arose:
“He cannot swim a stroke,” and the laughter on every lip was checked.
“Is that so that he cannot swim? Then I’ll haul him out as I threw him in.” And with a bound Mark Merrill went over the sea-wall and seized the drowning youth in his strong arms, while he struck out for a landing, with the words:
“All right, mate, the ducking has cooled off the temper of both of us.”
Winslow Dillingham made no reply then; but as he was hauled out by Herbert Nazro, a dark-faced, handsome fellow of the first class, he said, as he turned to Mark Merrill:
“I humbly ask your pardon, my friend, and will escort you to the commandant and report my own rude behavior and its just punishment.”
“I thought there was manhood in you, mate, but there is no need of reporting anything. I have a dry suit aboard my craft, and will soon rig up and return ashore, when maybe some of these gentlemen will show me my course.”
“We’ll march you there in force, sir, for somehow you’ve caught on in great shape with us baby tars,” said a cadet, stepping forward and offering his hand, while he added:
“My name is Herbert Nazro, a first-class man.”