Such were undoubtedly the thoughts on board the ship ahead. The shrill screech of her syren screamed across the water--a signal for all on board immediately to close every door and scuttle throughout the ship, so that in the event of a collision the water entering the wounded side would be prevented from spreading throughout the ship and endangering her buoyancy. Lazar’s actions showed not a sign of indecision. He appeared as cool as if he were performing an ordinary maneuver of routine duty. The “Connecticut” cleared her prostrated mate and swung by her swiftly--so close aboard that it seemed to Phil that they must have touched, then she followed in the wake of the other ships. The boy was filled with admiration for the officer. He wondered if he would ever be able to use such remarkable judgment and remain as tranquil. The more he saw of the older man the more he regretted their common enmity. As an officer he could not but command his respect. He was capable and self-possessed under the most trying circumstances, and yet, in spite of this enviable talent, he lacked the power of endearing himself to those under him. There was hardly a sailor on the ship who liked him. As a rule he was silent, yet the man who displeased him awakened a tongue so bitter that its sting covered the unfortunate one with shame and confusion. Those of his own mess admired him for his seamanlike ability, but despised him for his cynical and abusive disposition. He confided in no one, was friendly with none. With such a personality Phil found himself closely associated, both in his duty on deck and also in the turret, where hard work was their daily portion. Lazar was ambitious, and he spared neither his men nor himself in building up such efficiency that the turret he commanded could not be outstripped in its record by any other of its class. Phil had no real grounds for complaint. Lazar’s biting cynicisms hurt his pride, but only spurred him on to further efforts to perfect himself in his duties. “Come out with us, Phil,” cried Sydney, the day before target practice, to his roommate, hard at work over some knotty problem. “You take things too seriously. Let it alone for awhile. We are going for a row in the dinghy, to the beach, and have a swim. Marshall, Morrison and Hill are going. You will just make a crew.” Phil’s face brightened at the prospect, but remembering his work, he shook his head. “No, I must work this out first. It’s very irritating. I know there must be a way, but I can’t see how to do it.” “You are working entirely too hard,” replied Sydney, earnestly. “It isn’t worth it. What credit does Lazar give you? He never has a word to say unless it’s to correct a mistake in his sarcastic voice. It makes me angry to see you slave for him. Come out with us and harden up your muscles.” But Phil could not be moved. His interest had been aroused in this work and he would master it before he gave in.