“Where is Greenberry Point?” demanded Macloud, suddenly.
“Yonder, sir, on the far side of the Severn—the strip of land which juts out into the Bay.”
“First hypothesis, dead as a musket!” looking at Croyden. “There isn’t a house in sight—except the light-house, and it’s a bug-light.” 105
“No houses—but where are the trees?” Croyden returned. “It seems pretty low,” he said, to the skipper; “is it ever covered with water?”
“I think not, sir—the water’s just eating it slowly away.”
Croyden nodded, and faced townward.
“What is the enormous white stone building, yonder?” he asked.
“The Naval Academy—that’s only one of the buildings, sir, Bancroft Hall. The whole Academy occupies a great stretch of land along the Severn.”
They landed at the dock, at the foot of Market Place and inquired the way to Carvel Hall—that being the hotel advised by Dick. They were directed up Wayman’s alley—one of the numerous three foot thoroughfares between streets, in which the town abounds—to Prince George Street, and turning northward on it for a block, past the once splendid Brice house, now going slowly to decay, they arrived at the hotel:—the central house of English brick with the wings on either side, and a modern hotel building tacked on the rear.
“Rather attractive!” was Macloud’s comment, as they ascended the steps to the brick terrace and, thence, into the hotel. “Isn’t this an old residence?” he inquired of the clerk, behind the desk.