Scott Clemmons, in a nervous way, half-stepped forward with extended hand, but Mark simply bowed, ignoring the hand, a fact which the keen eyes of the commandant took in, and rather set down against Mark, who said: “Yes, sir, I have met Mr. Clemmons before.” There was something in the tone and manner in which it was said that convinced the commandant that their meeting had not been a pleasant one, and Scott Clemmons remarked in a supercilious way: “Yes, commandant, but this young man does not move in my circle at home, being only a fisher lad.” The commandant almost gave a start, and his kindly face changed so suddenly to a look of sternness that even Scott Clemmons saw that he had made a mistake. Had he not seen it, he was instantly made cognizant of the fact, for the commandant turned directly toward him, and said in a distinct way: “Mr. Clemmons, I believe your father is a man of great wealth and comes of an aristocratic family, but you must distinctly learn at once that here, in this Naval School, neither politics, riches, nor family connections hold the slightest influence. “There are no cliques; all who come here come as young gentlemen, and though many are from the lowest walks of life they must be gentlemen here. “Mr. Merrill may have been a fisher lad, but I have it from the best of authority that he made an honest living and supported his mother, and he was appointed here for having nobly risked his life to save the lives of others.” “I never heard of that, sir, and wondered how he got appointed,” blustered out the confused Clemmons. “You never heard how he saved the yacht Midshipman from being wrecked, with the Secretary of the Navy and other distinguished gentlemen on board?” asked the commandant, with some surprise. “No, sir, it was not known in our town.” “Then, sir,” was the very decided answer, “Mr. Mark Merrill is as modest as he is brave, not to have told of his daring deed,” and he glanced at Mark, who replied with a quiet dig at Scott Clemmons: “I move in no social circle, sir, so had no one to tell it to.” The commandant turned his head away to hide a satisfied smile, while Scott Clemmons felt that he had made a sad mistake in his slur at Mark for being only a fisher lad. CHAPTER XIX. A THREAT. Scott Clemmons was a remarkably politic young man for one of his years. He had seen the gathering of the cadets, and recognized Mark Merrill in their midst, and it had made him envious and hateful. One whom he hated was coming under flying colors, it seemed. Wondering how Mark had gotten his appointment, and angry because he had done so, he saw that he was made a hero of from the start, or else why this popular demonstration in his favor. “Of course he will never pass the examinations, for he is too ignorant for that,” he said to himself.