"Well what do you think of that?" said the gunner. "If it ain't one of our own gang. Say, we must have given it to 'em hard." "We'll go over and see who it is," said the captain of the destroyer. "The signals are O.K., but it may be a dodge of the Huns. Ask 'em who they are." In obedience to the order, a sailor on the destroyer's bridge wigwagged the message. "Z3," answered one of the dungaree-clad figures on the submarine's deck. Captain Bill came up himself, as the destroyer drew alongside, to see his would-be assassin. There was no resentment in his heart. The adventure was only part of the day's work. The destroyer neared; her bow overlooked them. The two captains looked at each other. The dialogue was laconic. "Hello, Bill," said the destroyer captain. "All right?" "Sure," answered Captain Bill, to one who had been his friend and class mate. "Ta, ta, then," said he of the destroyer, and the lean vessel swept away in the twilight. Captain Bill decided to stay on the surface for a while. Then he went below to look over things. The cook, standing over some unlovely slop which marked the end of a half dozen eggs broken by the concussion, was giving his opinion of the undue hastiness of destroyers. The cook was a child of Brooklyn, and could talk. The opinion was not flattering. "Give it to 'em, cooko," said one of the crew, patting the orator affectionately on the shoulder. "We're with you." And Captain Bill laughed. IV RUNNING SUBMERGED It was breakfast time, and the officers of the submarines then in port had gathered round one end of the long dining table in the wardroom of the mother ship. Two or three who had breakfasted early had taken places on a bench along the nearer wall and were examining a disintegrating heap of English and American magazines, whilst pushed back from the table and smoking an ancient briar, the senior of the group read the wireless news which had just arrived that morning. The news was not of great importance. The lecture done with, the tinkle of cutlery and silver, which had been politely hushed, broke forth again. "What are you doing this morning, Bill?" said one of the young captains to another who had appeared in old clothes. "Going out at about half past nine with the X10. (The X10 was a British submarine.) Just going to take a couple of shots at each other. What are you up to?" "Oh, I've got to give a bearing the once over, and then I've got to write a bunch of letters." "Wouldn't you like to come with us?" said the first speaker, pausing over a steaming dish of breakfast porridge. "Be mighty glad to take you." "Indeed I would," I replied with joy in my heart. "All my life long I have wanted to take a trip in a submarine."