"I fancy we're going to hunt for Fritz to-night, sir."
"Why, has he been round to-day?"
"He fired a torpedo at the Jonquil this afternoon, sir; somewhere round the left flank, sir."
When the Orphan climbed on board to find out more news, he ran across the Sub on the quarterdeck.
"Hello, my jumping Jimmy! I was looking for you. We've got to go away to-night and see if Fritz goes to sleep in Ejelmar Bay—about seven miles along the coast, round Suvla Point. He's been making a nuisance of himself again. What kind of a coxswain have you?"
"Not particularly good," the Orphan said. "He's not very fond of shells."
"Hum! I suppose we can't change him," the Sub said, scratching his head. "I've got Bowditch, the gunner's mate, coming along to run the 3-pounder, so that will be all right." Then, bursting with excitement, he thumped the Orphan's chest. "My perishing Orphan! Just fancy if we bag a submarine!"
"Promotion for you, too," grinned the Orphan.
"I hadn't thought of that," beamed the Sub. "Wouldn't that be grand?"
They were interrupted by a signalman running aft. "Hostile aeroplane, sir!" he called out. The "guard call" sounded, and the marines began tumbling up the hatchways with their rifles.