“We are sailors in the United States Navy,” answered Dan proudly. “We are on our way to the training station at Newport. You had better not detain us, or there may be trouble.” The policeman grinned broadly. “Beat it, then,” he commanded, giving Sam a sudden shove that excited that young man’s anger somewhat. “Get out of here both of you, before I run you in for disturbing the peace. Here, you stokers, you clear out, too, and don’t you let me catch you raising any more rows on my beat or your ship will sail without you when she goes out again. Off with you!” While all this had been happening, the old apple woman had been busily engaged in gathering her stock in trade. The loss of a few dozen apples would have been serious to her. But now she hobbled toward Hickey, resting a withered hand on his coat sleeve. “I—I don’t know how to thank you, young man,” she quavered. “I’m glad you don’t, ma’am,” answered Sam, uncovering as quickly as though the little old woman had been an admiral’s wife. “The thanks of the ladies always embarrass me, ma’am. But I’m glad I settled your bill against that sea-going miner.” Now the two brand-new fighting men of the Navy edged quickly away from the crowd that was growing every instant. “Come on, Sam,” urged Dan. “Let’s go over and take a look at Broadway,” linking his arm within that of his companion and leading him from the scene. “We have begun our fighting career rather early, it strikes me.” “No; I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go to Broadway,” objected Sam, pulling back. “What do you wish to do?” demanded Dan suspiciously. “I want to hang around here and see the fun,” answered Hickey. “Right about face! March!” commanded Dan. Sam eyed his companion resentfully, then, turning sharply about, fell into a military stride, with his face turned toward Broadway. CHAPTER II—IN UNCLE SAM’S NAVY “Do you know where you are going?” “No, but I shall find out pretty soon, Sam.” Dan Davis paused, pointing off over the beautiful Narragansett Bay to where the cage masts of two big battleships were observable, towering high above a point of land. “Do you see them?” “Yes.” “Who knows but we may be on one of those ships in three months from now. I wish we were going there to-day.” The lads were standing on a rise of ground just in front of the executive building of the Newport, R. I., training station. A long, green lawn sloped down to the water’s edge where a fleet of cutters belonging to the station, swayed idly at their moorings. On beyond, lay the old “Constitution,” fully rigged, a handsome craft despite the fact that more than a hundred years had elapsed since she left the hands of her builders. The boys did not know her name, but they did know that she belonged to another age. To the right, lay the “Cumberland,” a full rigged sailing ship; the “Boxer,” a barkentine, and some distance from the latter they saw moored to a wharf the “Reina Mercedes,” captured during the war with Spain.