He had also taken occasion to say that Mark Merrill was the son of a poor widow who, from the charity of the agent in charge of a fine old house, was allowed to live in one wing of it, while her son had been a mail-carrier and fisher lad.
Now Herbert Nazro was the cadet midshipman who had the drilling of the new men, and he had with rare judgment taken in the characters of those under his command.
He realized that they were all green, some exceedingly modest and willing to admit their know-nothingness, while others were determined to “cheek it through.”
Mark reported for duty, and when the cadet officer said: “Well, sir, what do you know?” he answered, with extreme candor:
“Nothing whatever, sir.”
“Then you can be taught easily,” was the frank reply.
“And you, sir?” he turned to Scott Clemmons.
“I do not understand you,” and Scott Clemmons meant to overawe the cadet officer.
He made a mistake, and he soon realized it.
“Why were you not paying attention, so that you should know?” was the stern question.