"He might have taken me," said one of the others wistfully. "You don't belong to his Division or his turret or anything."
"It was my turn. You went last time. But you missed something, I can tell you!"
"What d'you mean," said the Sub over the top of his paper. "Just cough up the details and let your beastly breakfast wait."
The Night Patroller extracted the backbone from a bloater with swift dexterity. "Well," he continued, "it was very dark last night and foggy in patches: rum night. Very little wind and no sea. We were right outside and the Engineer sent up to say he thought there was something foul of the propeller. So we stopped and investigated with a boathook. There was a lot of weed and stuff fouling us. We were playing about with it mit boathook for nearly a quarter-of-an-hour, and suddenly old Mouldy Jakes put up his head and sniffed about a bit and muttered 'Baccy.'"
"He's got a nose like a hawk," said the Midshipman of that officer's
Division with a tinge of pride in his voice.
The Mess perforce had to possess its soul in patience while the raconteur swiftly disposed of the bloater.
"So I sniffed too, and I could smell it quite plain. We were lying stern to the wind; 'sides it wasn't decent baccy like ours, but sort of Scorp stuff, so we knew it wasn't one of our fellows smoking. Hashed mutton, please; and another cup of coffee. It was pitch dark and for a moment we couldn't see a thing. Then, suddenly, right on top of us came a submarine! She was on the surface and there was a fellow on the conning tower and a couple of figures aft. She must have been smelling about on the surface having a smoke and recharging her batteries."
The remainder of the Gunroom had crowded round the speaker, some kneeling on the form with their elbows among the débris of breakfast, others sat on the edge of the table hugging their knees.
"My word, Matt," said one, his eyes dancing, "I bet you got cold feet."
"Cold feet!" snorted the hero of the moment. "There wasn't time for cold feet. It was too sudden. They just grazed past us, going very slow, and there was a devil of a bobbery. I fancy they thought they were properly in the consommé. A trap or something. Anyhow the two braves aft lost their heads and jumped overboard, and the bird in the conning tower disappeared like a Jack-in-the-box—properly rattled."