"Felton, an ordinary gas bag can travel faster than the speediest water craft ever constructed. We cannot hit a destroyer at full speed. How can we hit an airship above us? Gun sights are useless at such elevations, even though guns could be pointed." "All a matter of mathematics. Design new ones." "And suppose a few bombs come down on deck, or down the funnels; what'll happen to the boilers?" "Armor the deck, and do away with funnels. We will soon have internal combustion engines, anyhow." "And for submarine attack? Armor the bottom, too? Felton, a battleship will cease to be a battleship. With that weight of armor she could only carry the guns of a cruiser without a cruiser's speed." "But she would still hold the line of battle." "Until she was further reduced. Then she would not be even a cruiser. Finally she would sacrifice some of her armor--side armor, we'll say, because unnecessary--then, with enemies only above and below, she would lose it all, seal up and dive, or take wings and fly." "Oh, Mr. Clarkson," said Felton, wearily, "you are a visionary and theorist. The battleship is here, a perfected fighting machine." "But she cannot grow much better, while the flying machine and the submarine have just begun. Imagine the three types starting together. Which would be chosen?" "It would depend upon the judgment, experience, and gray matter of the choosers. I"--young Mr. Felton threw out his chest--"would choose the battleship." "Because you never hit one. There goes eight bells. Turn in, Felton, and sleep it off." Amid the laughter--for Mr. Felton, as torpedo officer, had not yet scored a hit in his department--of the listening officers, the group dispersed, to stand watch, or sleep, until four hours later, when the striking of eight bells would again bring a change on the watches. It was Felton's turn in, and he went to his berth; but, hot and excited over the discussion, he remained awake, tossing and rolling, and mentally arguing with the impractical "first luff," until one bell had struck, then two, and finally three. Then he dozed off, and was sound asleep when the familiar stroke of the bell again rang in his ears. "Clang-clang, clang-clang." "Only four bells," he murmured, sinking back for another two hours of sleep. But he had hardly lost consciousness when the gun-room orderly tapped at his door. "Going into action, sir," he said. "You were called, and I thought you had wakened. All hands are at stations, sir."