"You look like an officer, Ned," he went on a few moments later, as, pausing in his own preparations, he gazed at the trim, natty figure of Ned Strong.
Herc was right. The slender, yet strongly built lad did indeed look every inch fitted for the quarter-deck of a naval vessel when, having finished his other sartorial duties, he buckled on his sword and adjusted his cap.
"Well, so do you, don't you?" laughed Ned, watching Herc as, with a face fiery red with his exertions, his comrade buckled himself into his tightly fitting uniform.
"Don't know," responded Herc briefly, "I feel rather more like a tailor's dummy. How do I look?"
"All right. But cool your face off in that water. It looks as if you'd been taking a turn in the fire room."
"Well, so long as I don't do a flop over my sword, I don't care," rejoined Herc, as he carefully removed the scabbard of that weapon from between his knees where it threatened at any moment to cause disaster.
Not many minutes later they descended from the room, just in time to be greeted by a stalwart coxswain.
"Lieutenant Strong, sir?" asked the man, coming to attention just as Ned and Herc had done so often.
It certainly felt strange to acknowledge the salute in an official way, not to mention being addressed as Lieutenant. Herc was, in fact, compelled to hide a grin behind his pocket handkerchief. Luckily, Ned did not see this, or Herc might have had another lecture.
"Yes," rejoined Ned, returning the man's salute. "You are from the Seneca?"