"Yes," answered Ruth. "I'm to do his room every morning while he's in the water. He's going to work up here after breakfast."
"Hot stuff!" said Ernie, trying to work up enthusiasm. "He'll command the old Battalion one day, the skipper will. Good old Hammer-men!"
Half an hour later the Captain was back. His hair still wet, was crisp still and very dark; while the brine crusted his handsome face. He had run up the stairs, three at a stride, too impetuous to await the lift. In flannels, a sweater with a broad collar, and white shoes, he looked cool and clean and strenuous as the water from which he just emerged. At the top of the stairs he met the shabby porter with his collarless shirt, his scrubby hair, and rough hands.
Ruth, coming down the corridor, marked the meeting of the two men.
"Mornin," said the Captain, brief as his own moustache.
"Morning, sir," grinned Ernie, rolling by, full of self-consciousness.
An hour later, he saw Ruth coming out of 72 with a tray.
Ernie stopped.
"Havin breakfast in his own room?" he asked.
"Yes," said Ruth quietly.