The two trim, trig lads, in their quiet, unassuming clothes, attracted little or no attention on the single street that Miller's Haven boasted. True, one or two passers-by looked rather curiously at the yellow leather sword cases that they carried, but that was all.
The hotel soon came in sight, a dingy-looking structure sadly in need of paint. A dejected-looking citizen with a drooping mustache, a drooping manner, drooping gray garments and a drooping way of draping himself in his chair, occupied the porch.
"Doesn't look like much of a place," commented Ned, "but we can get a room here that will be good enough to change in, I dare say."
"A room!" demanded Herc. "What do you want a room for? I thought we were going to eat."
"No, we will change into our uniforms first. It would not be the correct thing to board our new command in ordinary clothes. I should think you'd know that."
"Have we got to wear our swords?" inquired Herc with a rebellious look.
"Don't you know enough of navy usages yet to be aware that officers must wear their swords under certain conditions, such as taking command of a new craft and other ceremonial occasions?"
"Umph! Well, all I hope is I don't tumble over that cheese toaster of mine."
"If you do anything like that, I'll disown you for a brother officer of mine," laughed Ned. "But, seriously, Herc, I want you to be on your best behavior and not make any bad breaks."