“There goes the last link to bind me with my life of the past few years. Now my career is to be so different! The struggle begins--my hard fight for fame. But I will win. I cannot afford not to do so, for Scott Clemmons shall never rejoice over my failure.” “Ah, Merrill, all broken up, I see, at parting with your fisher friends--strange that you did not stick to the low life that suited you so well.” It was Scott Clemmons, and Mark felt as though he would like to have struck him to the earth. But instead he said, calmly: “I have shaken hands with the past life, Clemmons, and when I leave this academy you will be behind me!” “Never! mark my words, never!” and Scott Clemmons uttered an oath at Mark’s threat to leave him behind in the race for honors. CHAPTER XXII. DISCIPLINING A “CAPTAIN.” Mark Merrill entered upon his duties like one who had gone in to win. His modest nature recoiled at having been discovered as a hero, for he had hoped to gain success without there being one thing in his favor. He had as a room mate a youth from South Carolina by the name of Bemis Perry, a quiet, unassuming youth, about Mark’s age, and who made a pleasant companion. “You knew Clemmons before you came here?” said Bemis Perry, the day after the two had become mates. “Yes, I had met him.” “They say his father is awfully rich, and the king bee of his part of the country.” “Yes, Mr. Clemmons is said to be a very rich and influential man.” “And Scott is his only heir, I hear.” “He has a sister, I have heard, who is younger than he is.” “What has Clemmons got against you?” “I really do not know,” and Mark did not, for he did not recall having ever done aught to cause Scott Clemmons to dislike him. “Well, I’ll tell you that he is not your friend, Merrill.” “So I am aware, but it is a matter of utter indifference to me.” Entering upon his duties, Mark was naturally put in the same “awkward squad” as Scott Clemmons. The latter had been to a military school for a couple of terms, and was thus priding himself upon his being well up in drill. He had, in fact, mentioned that he had been captain of his company at the military school which he had attended, and in various ways he had thrown out the hint that his father was enormously rich, and a man of great influence with the government authorities. He had also taken occasion to say that Mark Merrill was the son of a poor widow who, from the charity of the agent in charge of a fine old house, was allowed to live in one wing of it, while her son had been a mail-carrier and fisher lad. Now Herbert Nazro was the cadet midshipman who had the drilling of the new men, and he had with rare judgment taken in the characters of those under his command. He realized that they were all green, some exceedingly modest and willing to admit their know-nothingness, while others were determined to “cheek it through.”