"Maybe I can make some p'ints clearer. I'm an old sea-dog, you know."
"I think Doring can explain all I wish to know," continued the boy, feeling he ought to stick up for the Yankee who had made himself so agreeable since leaving Boston.
"Don't want my advice, then?"
"I think not."
"All right, then, suit yourself. If you want to cotton to such a fellow as Doring, you can do so, but"—he lowered his voice—"I reckon you are making a mistake." And then, before either Walter or Si could answer, he bounced up, and strode down the aisle and into the smoker.
The train was approaching Washington, and shortly after this conversation it rolled into the depot at the Capitol city, and came to a standstill.
"We stop here for fifteen minutes," said the porter to Walter, when questioned on the point. "Give you sailor-boys time to stretch your shoah legs." And he grinned, having been on a warship himself once, serving as a "striker,"—one who waits on the mess tables.
"Let us take a few minutes walk; I am all cramped up," said Walter to his Yankee friend;
