“Is that so that he cannot swim? Then I’ll haul him out as I threw him in.” And with a bound Mark Merrill went over the sea-wall and seized the drowning youth in his strong arms, while he struck out for a landing, with the words: “All right, mate, the ducking has cooled off the temper of both of us.” Winslow Dillingham made no reply then; but as he was hauled out by Herbert Nazro, a dark-faced, handsome fellow of the first class, he said, as he turned to Mark Merrill: “I humbly ask your pardon, my friend, and will escort you to the commandant and report my own rude behavior and its just punishment.” “I thought there was manhood in you, mate, but there is no need of reporting anything. I have a dry suit aboard my craft, and will soon rig up and return ashore, when maybe some of these gentlemen will show me my course.” “We’ll march you there in force, sir, for somehow you’ve caught on in great shape with us baby tars,” said a cadet, stepping forward and offering his hand, while he added: “My name is Herbert Nazro, a first-class man.” “And here’s my hand, sir, as a friend,” said Cadet Captain Byrd Bascomb. “Don’t overlook my extended grip,” cried Cadet Sergeant Neil Carrol. And so it went on until Cadet Lieutenant Frank Latrobe seemed to be suddenly inspired with a thought for he asked, eagerly: “I say, my friend, are you not the youth who was appointed by the President?” “I was appointed at large, sir, yes.” “And it was for services rendered, was it not?” “It was from the kindness of the Secretary of the Navy and Commodore Lucien, rather.” “You are the man we have been told of. Go aboard your flagship, put on your dry togs, and we’ll march you to the commandant at a quick step.” The cadets showed that this advice chimed in with their humor, and springing into his boat, Mark sent it flying back toward the schooner, while the dripping Dillingham was surrounded by a squad of friends, to hide his condition, and marched off to his room to also get on dry clothes. “Keep him there, Nazro, until I can get ready, for I wish to be in the procession,” said Winslow Dillingham, as he dove into his room to change his clothes, glad to escape the argus-eyed officers about the buildings and grounds. CHAPTER XV. BOARDING THE VENTURE. To Mark Merrill his salt-water bath with his clothes on was nothing to speak of. He had lived so much in his skiff, been overboard so often that he thought nothing of it, though he did regret losing his temper with Winslow Dillingham, who had shown himself such a good fellow after all. Of course he did not suppose that he would have drowned, for there were too many manly fellows upon the wall who could swim to allow that. But, having placed his life in jeopardy himself, he was the one to prevent any fatality therefrom.