Ranks and ratings alike clustered to the side, watching those bubbles with a curiously dispassionate interest; but for the silence they might have been a crowd of tourists assembled to see a whale. One low "Six to four against the torpedo" was heard; and a sub with a pathetically incipient beard asked for a match in a needlessly loud tone. The bubbles drew near, very near, and were hidden from all but one or two beneath the bow; hands gripped the rails rather tightly, and then once more the line of bubbles appeared, now to the starboard. Men turned and looked at each other curiously as if they were new acquaintances; one or two shook hands rather shamefacedly; and the sub who had asked for a match found that his cigarette wanted another. And from the look-out, in the same mechanical sing-song, came "Torpedo passed ahead, Sir!" * * * * * AS WE HATE IT. ["Mr. Stanley Cooke will begin his tour with _Caste_ at the Royal, Salisbury, on Monday. The old piece, we understand, has been altered so as to allow of references to current events in the War. Sam Gerridge now enlists in the last Act, and appears in khaki."--_The Stage._ Not to be outdone, _Mr. Punch_ begs to present scenes from his new version of _As You Like It_.] ACT I. _An open place_ (_with goal-posts at each end_). _Enter from opposite turnstiles_ Duke Frederick _and_ Rosalind (_with_ Celia). _Duke._ How now, daughter and cousin? Are you crept hither to see the football? _Rosalind._ Ay, my lord, so please you give us leave. _Duke._ You will take little delight in it, I can tell you. I only came myself from--er--duty. It's disgraceful to think that our able-bodied young men should waste their time kicking a ball about in this crisis. I would enlist myself if only I were ten years younger. _Celia_ (_thoughtfully_). I know a man just about your age who---- _Duke_ (_hastily_). Besides, I have a weak heart. [_Shout._ Orlando _kicks a goal_. _Rosalind._ Who is that excellent young man? _Duke._ Orlando. I have tried to persuade him to go, but he will not be entreated. Speak to him, ladies; see if you can move him. [_Whistle. Time._ _Arden Wednesday is defeated 2-1._ Orlando _approaches_. _Rosalind._ Young man, are you aware that there is a war on? _Orlando._ Yes, lady. _Rosalind_ (_giving him a small white feather from her bag_). Wear this for me, the lastling of the flock; To-morrow you shall have a better one. _Orlando._ Lady, I thank you for your welcome gift. This little favour cunningly affixed With mucilage upon the upper lip Shall take the place of those informal sproutings Which military etiquette demands And Nature has persistently denied me. _Rosalind_ (_alarmed_). Why want you a moustache, young man?