"Well, I guess you might call us that," responded Ned, not best pleased at this free and easy mode of address, but judging it best to be as amiable as possible. "Can you tell us how to get aboard the Manhattan? We've just left the Naval Training School and are appointed to her."
"Get your rating?"
"Sure—ordinary seamen."
"That's good. Come on with me, boys, and I'll put you aboard ship shape and comfortable. It's a cold day when old Tom Marlin can't look out for a pair of greenies."
Piloted by their companion, the two boys soon arrived at the landing place, which was already crowded with sailors whose shore leave had expired.
"Which is the Manhattan?" asked Sam, gazing with eyes that were still awestruck at the immense vessels that lay out in the river and appeared several sizes too large for their mooring places.
"Right yonder, Bricktop," rejoined old Tom, pointing off to a vessel which, large as were the other battleships, seemed by her huge size almost to dwarf them. "That's the old hooker. The last output of your old Uncle Sam. Right in the next berth to her is the Idaho."
"What's that red flag, with a black ball in the center, floating from the Idaho's main?" inquired Ned, much interested.