"Surely," assented Hal, meekly.
"Say," demanded Eph, taking out notebook and pencil, "what is an ensign's pay, anyway?"
"Seventeen hundred dollars a year," replied Benson.
"I don't suppose the Navy Department will try to spring less than a day's pay on us," hinted Eph. "If that's right, then the government now owes me three hundred and sixty-five into seventeen hundred. Let me see—"
"Oh, cut it!" laughed Hal.
"What? My pay?" demanded Eph, "Not much, sir! I want the only money I ever really earned."
"One of us ought to drop Mr. Farnum a line," hinted Jack, presently.
"Oh, well, let Hal do it," offered Eph. "He carries the only fountain pen in the crowd."
Without a word Hastings crossed to a table on which were envelopes and paper, and began to write. Perhaps he welcomed something to occupy his mind; for, truth to tell, each of these submarine boys had a woefully "blue" feeling. Though all were naval officers, still, at this moment, all realized that they would cease to be such as soon as they had received the thanks of the Secretary of the Navy. However, "blue" as all three felt, none of them hung back when half-past eleven arrived. They descended to the dining room, where they refreshed themselves heartily.
The meal over, there was just about enough time left for them to walk comfortably to the Navy Department.