Young Brydell had ceased to be Young Brydell then, being quite fifteen years old. He has experienced a good many changes in those six years. Much of the time his father, now a lieutenant, had been at sea, but unluckily, whether his father were at sea or on shore, Brydell was still allowed to have his own way, and a good deal more of the lieutenant’s pay than was good for a boy.
The old tenderness and sympathy still encompassed him—he had no mother. Therefore whenever Brydell found himself dissatisfied at school a complaining letter to his father would result in his going somewhere else. When his teachers represented that Brydell, although an extremely bright fellow and fond of reading, yet neglected his recitations for athletics, Brydell would write a most convincing letter to his father explaining how impossible it was for him to do more at his books when his duties as captain of the football eleven were taken into consideration, and his letters were so bright and well written that his father, as foolishly fond in his way as poor Grubb, would persuade himself that the boy would come out all right.
He had even been sent to Switzerland to school, but like the other schools this one did not suit Brydell, and six months after he was home again. Fortunately Brydell possessed certain strong traits of character that are difficult to spoil. He was perfectly truthful, brave, and had naturally a good address.
Nothing could have been prettier than the devotion between him and the lieutenant. As Brydell said: “Dear dad, fatherly respect is out of the question. When you got married at twenty, you took the chances of having a boy in the field before you were ready to quit it yourself. I’ll agree to treat you as an elder brother, but we’ve been chums too long for you to come the stern father over me.” And this would be said with such an affectionate hug that the lieutenant could only make believe to growl.
And so Brydell grew up without any of the wholesome restraints and self-denial of more fortunate boys. He was not a conceited boy, but he realized that whenever he had failed it was because he had not really exerted himself, and he had a naturally optimistic way of looking at life, which so far had not been rudely contradicted.
The determination to go into the navy had grown with his growth and strengthened with his strength, and no other plan of life had ever occurred to him. He knew the difficulties of getting an appointment, but like most happy young fellows of his age and inexperience, he thought all difficulties existed for other people; his own way would be easy enough.
His father had carefully retained a legal residence in his native town, expressly for Brydell’s sake, so he could be eligible for appointment from that district. But Brydell, having concluded to try private tutors for a while,—which were changed as often as the schools were,—had lived for nearly a year and a half with his Aunt Emeline in a town outside of his own congressional district.
One morning, picking up a paper, he had read that a competitive examination would be held for an appointment to Annapolis, open to all boys who had lived twelve months in the district.
“That suits me to a dot,” cried Brydell, and from then until the day of the examination he really worked hard, never doubting for a moment his ultimate success.
Aunt Emeline, it is true, croaked like a raven, but Aunt Emeline always croaked. Brydell had already in his own mind composed the letter announcing his success to his father and another one to the admiral, who had continued to be his fast friend, and another one to Grubb, his old chum, the marine. On the morning of the examination he therefore presented himself and was duly accepted in the competition.