"Sure," answered Captain Bill, to one who had been his friend and class mate.
"Ta, ta, then," said he of the destroyer, and the lean vessel swept away in the twilight.
Captain Bill decided to stay on the surface for a while. Then he went below to look over things. The cook, standing over some unlovely slop which marked the end of a half dozen eggs broken by the concussion, was giving his opinion of the undue hastiness of destroyers. The cook was a child of Brooklyn, and could talk. The opinion was not flattering.
"Give it to 'em, cooko," said one of the crew, patting the orator affectionately on the shoulder. "We're with you."
And Captain Bill laughed.
IV
RUNNING SUBMERGED
It was breakfast time, and the officers of the submarines then in port had gathered round one end of the long dining table in the wardroom of the mother ship. Two or three who had breakfasted early had taken places on a bench along the nearer wall and were examining a disintegrating heap of English and American magazines, whilst pushed back from the table and smoking an ancient briar, the senior of the group read the wireless news which had just arrived that morning. The news was not of great importance. The lecture done with, the tinkle of cutlery and silver, which had been politely hushed, broke forth again.
"What are you doing this morning, Bill?" said one of the young captains to another who had appeared in old clothes.
"Going out at about half past nine with the X10. (The X10 was a British submarine.) Just going to take a couple of shots at each other. What are you up to?"