"Yes, sir," murmured Dan, again reddening.

The orderly below directed the two young men how to proceed to the
main entrance of Bancroft Hall, there to turn to their left and
inquire again their way to the commandant's office.

"You see," lectured Dave pleasantly, as the chums plodded along
one of the walks, "you have already received your first lesson.
You answered the superintendent's aide without saying 'sir.' You'll
have to work out of this freshness."

"That wasn't freshness; it was ignorance," protested Dalzell.
"Don't you worry, Dave; I shall soon get the Naval trotting gait
to such an extent that I shall be saying 'sir' at every other word."

This declaration was more prophetic than Dalzell could guess at
that moment.

Each lad had a queer feeling at heart as he began to climb the
long series of white steps that lead to the main entrance to Bancroft
Hall. What would be the outcome? Were they hence-forth to find
this huge pile "home" for four years to come? Would they, through
all after life, look back upon this great government training
school as their alma mater? It all seemed to depend, now, on
the verdict of the examining Naval surgeons!

But there was little time for thought. Once inside, they were
ushered, by a white-gloved midshipman, into the office of Commander
Jephson, commandant of midshipmen.