“You may leave Mr. Merrill in my charge now, Captain Bascomb, and I am glad that you gave him the welcome you did, as, from all accounts, he is deserving of it.”
The cadets saluted, and were marched off by their captain, while the commandant, in a kindly way, invited Mark into his quarters.
To his surprise Mark beheld in the room, standing by the window where he had seen all, no less a personage than Scott Clemmons.
The latter had just arrived, and reported to the commandant.
He was most fashionably attired, wore a spotless white silk tie around his standing collar, and held in his hand a high hat, presenting a perfect specimen of the youthful genus dude.
His face was pale, and his eyes had an angry look as he turned them furtively upon Mark.
“Here is also a young gentleman from your State; in fact, I believe you are neighbors, as you both hail from B——. Mr. Merrill, Mr. Clemmons,” said the commandant, introducing them.
Scott Clemmons, in a nervous way, half-stepped forward with extended hand, but Mark simply bowed, ignoring the hand, a fact which the keen eyes of the commandant took in, and rather set down against Mark, who said:
“Yes, sir, I have met Mr. Clemmons before.”
There was something in the tone and manner in which it was said that convinced the commandant that their meeting had not been a pleasant one, and Scott Clemmons remarked in a supercilious way: