Said the ‘Sub,’ aged twenty, to the ‘Snotty,’ aged nineteen, ‘I bearded the Commander in his den to-day, and flopped in my application.’
‘Did you? What did he say?’ inquired the Midshipman.
‘Look out, he’s over there. Said it was all right and he’d see the Captain about it to-morrow.’
‘You lucky beggar. I wish I could get in, but they won’t take us “Snotties.”’
‘Perhaps you’ll get in when you’re my age,’ returned the bearder of Commanders patronisingly.
‘By gum, yes. I hope so. I’ve always wanted to be in a submarine, ever since the Marmora business.’ He gazed across at the Parentis. ‘Look, there’s one of them going to sea. Can you see which she is?’
The ‘Sub’ shaded his eyes.
‘“147,” I think. Billings is in her. He’s my term, and he got in without much trouble. I ought to get it in two months or so with any luck.’
‘That’ll mean drinks all round then, that’s one comfort,’ said the Midshipman enviously.
‘Oh, I shan’t mind standing drinks once I’ve got it. Man, you’re practically your own boss there. Think of it, no school or bally drills. You’re not treated as a child like you are here.’