“Oh, quit your kiddin’—who are you guys, anyway?”
Bill shook his head. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
“I asked you first,” stubbornly insisted the youngster.
“All right, then,” laughed Bill. “My name is Bolton, and I’m ‘commonly known as Bill.’”
“A college man?”
“Midshipman at the Naval Academy.”
“You aren’t in uniform,” said the boy doubtfully. “How do you happen to be here?”
“Oh, I change my clothes occasionally. And this is my second class summer—I’m on leave. Anything else you’d like to know?”
“Sure—heaps!”
“Well,” Bill drew a deep breath, “I was born an orphan at the age of five, and until I was ninety-seven I could only go upstairs backward with my hair parted on the side—”