"It's all done," whispered Jack, chuckling softly, "and that wonderful watch officer above hasn't hailed us or passed the word for the marine guard!"
"That man McCrea will claim it wasn't done during his watch," whispered
Eph. "Paint on the exact present time. It's just 11.33."
So Captain Jack, again chuckling, and with a fresh brushful of paint, wrote the present time on the battleship's gray side.
All in a twinkling, afterward, the submarine, her manhole closed, dropped down beneath the waves. She was soon back at her anchorage, lying on the surface of the water as though this handy little craft had not just been engaged in perpetrating the biggest naval joke of the year!
CHAPTER XXI
THE MAN WHO DROPPED THE GLASS
Early the next morning there was, as might be imagined, a big stir of excitement in the fleet.
First of all, one of the fleet patrol launches discovered the legend lettered in white, on a gray background, on the Lizon's side.
As soon as the matter was reported aboard, the executive officer, after ordering a side gangway lowered, and going down close to the water's edge for a look, sent for the different watch officers of the night.
Each was emphatic in the belief that the thing did not happen during his watch. Lieutenant McCrea was one of the most positive.