March and Stan walked across the narrow gangplank, climbed the conning tower ladder and then slid down the hatch to the control room below. It was brilliantly lighted, and they looked around, blinking.
First of all March saw the gleaming, shining, newness of everything in the room. It was beautiful! Then his eyes focused on two or three crewmen who looked casually at him, then on a young man, about his age, who looked up with a smile. He saw the Lieutenant’s (not j.g.) stripes and saluted.
“Lieutenant Anson, sir, reporting,” he said.
“Lieutenant Bigelow,” Stan echoed him.
The young man saluted back casually.
“Hello,” he said. “Glad to know you. My name’s Gray.”
March smiled. He liked this young man right away. Maybe another new officer.
“We’d like to report to the Skipper,” he said in a friendly tone.
“You’ve done it, men,” the man said lightly. “I’m the Skipper.”
March was thunderstruck. This young fellow the Skipper? Why, he didn’t look any older than March or Stan, and March knew that he wasn’t qualified to be the Captain of a submarine. But he quickly abandoned his friendly tone and grew formal.