“I’ll be darned glad to get on that boat and find one familiar face,” March told himself. “I wonder what the Skipper’s like.” He began to think more and more of this after he got off the train and headed for the Navy Yard. If the Skipper happened to be an old-timer contemptuous of youngsters, or a gruff sort without any heart in him—then it might not be so good. As he approached the gate, and prepared to show the sentry his pass, he saw someone ahead of him that looked familiar. “Stan!” he called, still not sure that it really was Bigelow. And then, as the man turned, he was sure he had been wrong, for the man wore the stripes of a Lieutenant (j.g.) and Bigelow was only an Ensign. But the man called back “March!” and March knew his first guess had been right. It _was_ Stan Bigelow! “Stan!” he cried, pumping his hand vigorously. “I thought I was wrong. They’ve finally found out how good you are and made you a Lieutenant!” “Sure!” Stan cried. “The only thing that bothered me was that I ought to have been made an Admiral. It all happened during my leave. I was sure sick of being an Ensign. Do you remember how the CPO’s look down on an Ensign?” “I surely do!” March said, showing his papers to the sentry. “But they don’t think junior Lieutenants are so wonderful, either, as you’ll soon find out.” “But I think Chief Petty Officers are wonderful,” Stan said. “They know more than half the Rear Admirals in the Navy.” They were walking along the path together, between long low buildings. For a few minutes they said nothing. “Gee, I’m glad I ran into you,” Stan said. “I was just thinking the same thing,” March said with enthusiasm. “I’m excited as the devil about this, but I began to feel the need of a friend close at hand. I wonder what the Skipper will be like.” “Are you reading my thoughts?” Stan exclaimed. “He can make or break us, you know.” “I know it!” March replied. “Why, on this first cruise the commanding officer can get us out of the sub service just by saying he doesn’t like the color of our eyes.” [Illustration: “_They’ve Made You a Lieutenant!_”] “Well, we’re going to find out pretty soon,” Stan said. “That looks like a mighty pretty pigboat alongside that dock up ahead. It might be ours.” It _was_ theirs. It was _Kamongo_, long and sleek and beautiful in the dark waters that lapped her sides. They showed the necessary papers to the guard at the gangplank and went aboard. It was now almost completely dark. “Everybody’s down below,” March said. “Skipper may not even be there,” Stan replied. The sentry overheard them. “The Skipper’s below, sir,” he said. March and Stan walked across the narrow gangplank, climbed the conning tower ladder and then slid down the hatch to the control room below. It was brilliantly lighted, and they looked around, blinking.