“Those men are very valuable,” answered the officer, “and you youngsters ought to treat them with the highest consideration.”
“Indeed, Grubb and I have always been the greatest chums in the world,” said Brydell, showing his boyish dimples in a smile. “The only thing I regret in being a cadet is that I can’t go and spend the day with Grubb at his quarters as I used to when I was ten years old, and eat salt pork and boiled onions; how good it tasted then.”
Brydell had despised Esdaile before, but after that utter ignoring of his father, Esdaile became even more contemptible than ever in his eyes. Nor did he ever see the slightest recognition afterward between the two. They constantly met on shore, but never exchanged a word or a sign, except the conventional salute.
Brydell indeed could not go to Grubb’s quarters as he had done as a little boy, but when he had leave, he would sometimes get a boat and he and Grubb would go fishing as in the old days, and be very happy together. Everybody on the ship knew of the old association between them, and the fondness of the smart young cadet for the grizzled marine was perfectly understood.
CHAPTER VIII.
A QUESTION OF HONOR.
Esdaile avoided Brydell more than ever at Portsmouth, and as they were in different classes it was easy for them to see but little of each other. One night, though, Brydell having come on board, after a day’s leave spent fishing with Grubb, was met by a third-class man as soon as he had got on board and reported. This was his old acquaintance Cunliffe, who had turned out a remarkably quiet and level-headed young fellow and belonged to the section in every class which keeps up the tone and discipline of the class.
“Brydell,” said he, “will you come into the steerage with me? Something very important is on hand, and we want your testimony.”
Brydell went, quite ignorant of what was up, except the surmise that some infringement of the code of cadet ethics was under discussion, and he knew from Cunliffe’s manner it was something serious. For among these cadets there is a rigid code of ethics which is carried out with a stern impartiality that would do honor to much older men.
Uncontaminated by the influences of self-interest, which are learned later in life, these young fellows insist upon certain points of honor so tenaciously that they can practically drive any cadet out of the academy who does not live up to them. And the greatest of these is truthfulness.
Any failure to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, is regarded as unfitting a cadet for any association with his fellows, and so well understood is this that there are few offences against truth. Two things, lying and tale-bearing, are treated as crimes, and a cadet convicted of them is not only put in Coventry, but every other cadet makes it his business to load the offender down with demerits, so that the class may be relieved of his presence. It is stern, but the effect is indescribably good.