“Oh, no,” replied the clerk, in answer to Dave’s question.  “There are only two other candidates besides yourselves stopping here.  There are a good many young men in town, of course, but most of them have been here for some weeks, and are in lodging houses.  A good many young men come here, you know, to attend the Naval preparatory schools before they go up for their examinations.”

“We’ve had our academic examinations, and have passed,” announced Dan.

“What about supper, sir?” asked Dave, who, in his short trip through the South, had noticed that in this part of the country the “sir” is generally employed.

“You’ll find supper ready, gentlemen,” replied the clerk, pointing the way to the dining room.

So the two young men passed in and enjoyed their first sample of southern cookery.

At this hour there were only a half dozen other people in the dining room—­none of them interesting, Darrin decided, after hastily surveying the other diners.

The meal over, the two young candidates sauntered again out into the hotel office.

“Any midshipmen out around the town, sir?” Darrin asked.

“Hardly, sir,” replied the clerk, with a smile.  “At this hour the young gentlemen are in their rooms at Bancroft Hall.”

“What does a midshipman look like?” ventured Dalzell.

“Like a human being, of course,” Dave laughed.

“You mean the uniform?” inquired the clerk.  “A midshipman, sir, wears a dark blue uniform, like an officer’s, and a visored cap, Naval pattern.  He also wears the anchor insignia on each side of his coat collar.”

Dave and Dan soon walked over to the open doorway and stood looking out upon the street, in which, at this time, few people were passing.  Hearing a step in the office, Dan quickly turned.  He saw a young man coming through the office, holding himself very erect.  This young man was in dark blue uniform, with visored cap, and on each side of his collar was the anchor insignia.  Past the anchor were two bars, but Dalzell didn’t notice that at the moment.

“There’s a real midshipman,” whispered Dan, plucking at Dave’s sleeve.  “I’m going to speak to him.”

“Don’t you do it,” warned Dave, in an undertone.  “You may make a mistake.”

“Mistake?” echoed Dan.  “With that anchor on his collar?”

Hastily Dan Dalzell slipped back into the office, going up to the young man in uniform, who had stopped before the desk.

“Good evening,” began Dan politely.  “I’d like to introduce myself.  ’Tomorrow I expect to be one of the crowd.  You’re a midshipman, aren’t you?”

“I’m an officer of the Navy,” replied the uniformed stranger coldly, as he half turned to glance briefly at Dalzell.  “You are a candidate, I suppose?  Then I fancy you will report at the superintendent’s office in the morning.”

With that the Naval officer turned away, leaving poor Dalzell feeling decidedly dumfounded.