"This confers on you, Strong, the rank, pay and authority of a lieutenant, junior grade, in the United States Navy. Taylor, your commission confers upon you the special rank of ensign.
"That is all. Your uniforms will be secured from the yard tailor. Your instructions are in this sealed package. You are not to open them till you have cleared. From time to time you will get other instructions by wireless, couched in the terms of the secret code adopted by the Red fleet. Your duty, in a nutshell, will be to be the eyes of the Red squadron. Carry on!"
With this crisp expression of dismissal, the commander turned to his table again. The lads saluted, and marched out of the cabin.
They appeared to be traversing fleecy clouds of wonderful brightness as they made their way forward.
"Hello, Red-head," hailed a gunner's mate as Herc strutted with all the pride of a peacock to the forward part of the ship, "what's biting you?"
"Don't talk to me like that, Jenks," returned Herc with some hauteur. "I'm an officer."
"A what?" roared Jenks. "Say, turn over. You're on your back. You haven't been working hard enough lately, Brick-top, and you're talking in your sleep."
"Wonderful as it all seems, though, Jenks, it's true," said Ned, with dancing eyes. "But I can't realize yet that I'm not asleep and dreaming the greatest dream a fellow could ever have."
Jenks stared for a minute and then clasped Ned's hand.