Still they came in for their share of petty jokes played upon them, all of which Mark submitted to as really a part of the discipline of the institution.
He was universally good-natured, dignified, yet courteous to all, and on duty and in study hours nothing could move him from what he deemed right.
He was a favorite with the officers, popular with his comrades, and yet for all that there seemed to be some mysterious undercurrent working against him.
Once his cap was missing, and he was absent at roll call, so a demerit went against him; but he did not report that his cap had been cleverly taken from his room by some one.
Another time he could not find his shoes for parade, and again a demerit went down against his name.
A third time his handsome uniform was disfigured by enormous ink stains, and he knew that he was no more responsible for that than he had been for his missing hat and shoes.
His books, too, became disfigured in some mysterious way, and one morning he was reported as having been caught out of his room at night when he had been fast asleep in bed.
So Mark Merrill, without a word in his own defense, had been put on the list for a reprimand and punishment.
These constant demerits were counting up sadly against Mark, until he knew that by the end of his first year they would be so formidable as to mean dismissal. Yet what could he do to save himself?
He was innocent of wrong-doing, and though he suspected his persecutor, he had no proof of it that he was right in his suspicions, while, if he was, he had too manly a nature to go and report him.