“Sorry!” apologized Bill, hauling himself off his victim. “I certainly didn’t—”
“No harm done,” replied a pleasant, though languid voice.
Bill leaned back against the upright and crossed his legs.
“Decent of you to take it that way,” he observed.
“Too much effort to fight,” remarked the unknown with surprising candor. “This beastly place saps one’s pep. After you’ve been here a while, you’ll feel that any unnecessary effort just isn’t worth while. Came in just now with that new batch, didn’t you?”
“That’s right—how did you guess it?”
“You’re still carrying the iron-ware. Those beasts will take it off in the morning. They always leave you weighted down the first night.”
The man’s voice was deep and resonant. He spoke with the accents of education which prompted Bill to continue the conversation.
“My name is Bill Bolton,” he said, by way of a starter.
“Not Bolton, the Naval Academy end?”