“I wish you success, young gentlemen,” and the commandant bowed the two youthful seekers after fame out, placing them under the guidance of an orderly. Surgeon Du Bose received the appointees pleasantly, there being one other youth in his quarters just drawing on his coat after having learned the sad tidings that his chest expansion was below the average, and his general physical condition not such as to warrant his being accepted as a cadet. The poor fellow cast an envious look at the fine forms of Mark Merrill and Scott Clemmons, and the latter gave him a pitying look of almost contempt, as though to wonder how he had dared anticipate being accepted. Then the usual formula was gone through with, Scott Clemmons being first examined, and his confident smile showed that he knew that he, at least, had “passed.” Then came Mark’s turn, and as he stripped for the ordeal the surgeon gave a low whistle, a decided expression of admiration of the lad’s physique. His name, age, height, weight, chest measure and expansion were all taken, his muscular developments noted, and the questions asked regarding having had any broken bones and other injuries of a harmful character. His bones were as straight as arrows, his eyesight was put to a crucial test and marked as “phenomenal,” and his health put down as perfect. His pendulum of life, the heart, swung with the regularity of clockwork, and not a flaw was found in his teeth, which were white, even and firm. A frown passed over the brow of Scott Clemmons as he noted the fact that Mark Merrill had stood the test better than he had, proud as he was of his fine form and handsome face. “It is seldom, if ever, I meet a youth of your perfection of physique, Mr. Merrill,” said Surgeon Du Bose, in a complimentary way, and Scott Clemmons turned his head away to hide his plainly visible chagrin at the praise bestowed upon the young sailor. Assured that they had passed the physical ordeal the two youths went to face the examining committee, who were to decide as to what they did or did not know. “Here he will fail,” muttered Scott Clemmons, with malign hope that such would be the case. Quickly they were put to the test, and when the hours of alternate hope and despair were over each knew that the other had passed, and Scott Clemmons fairly ground his teeth with rage, as he heard Lieutenant Briggs, one of the examiners, say in reference to Mark Merrill’s very fine penmanship: “I saw you run your schooner in, Mr. Merrill, and you handle a pen as well as you do the tiller. I congratulate you that no barrier is now between you and your cadetship.” “Curse him!” muttered Scott Clemmons. “He passed better than I did; but he shall yet be dismissed in disgrace--I swear it!” CHAPTER XX. THE MIDSHIPMAN.