Monty held his peace, but his eyes glistened in the starlight. I think he was happy that we two boys had been drawn to him, as inevitably as needles to a magnet. At last he said: "I suppose we ought to turn in now. But promise me you'll continue this talk to-morrow, if it's another lovely night like this." "Surely," assented Doe, as we arose and folded up the chairs. "I hope when we wake we shan't be out at sea," suggested I, "for I want to watch old England receding into the distance." Monty looked at me and smiled. "Rupert," he said, and it was like him to use my Christian name without as much as a "by your leave" within the first dozen hours of our acquaintance, "you're one of them." "One of whom?" "One of those to whom I could forgive everything. You both are. Good night, Rupert. Good night, Edgar." CHAPTER III "C. OF E., NOW AND ALWAYS" Sec.1 Awaking at 5.30 the next morning, I heard a noise as of the anchor's cable being hauled in. The engines, too, were throbbing, and overhead there were rattling and movement. I tumbled Doe out of his top bunk, telling him to get up and see the last of England. Slipping a British warm over my blue silk pyjamas--mother always made me wear pale blue--I went on deck. Doe covered his pink-striped pyjamas with a grey silk kimono embroidered with flowers--the chance of wearing which garment reconciled him to this cold and early rising--and followed me sleepily. In a minute we were leaning over the deck-rails, and watching the sea, as it raced past the ship's hull. Our _Rangoon_ was really off now. As we left Devonport, two devilish little destroyers gave us fifty in the hundred, caught us up, and passed us, before we were in the open sea. Then they waited for us like dogs who have run ahead of their master, and finally took up positions one on either side of us. We felt it was now a poor look out for all enemy submarines. "Well, ta-ta, England," said Doe, looking towards a long strip of Devon and Cornwall. "See, there, Rupert? Falmouth's there somewhere. In a year's time I'll be back, with you as my guest. We'll have the great times over again. We'll go mackerel-fishing, when the wind is fresh. We'll put a sail on the _Lady Fal_, and blow down the breeze on the estuary. We'll--" "And when's all this to be?" broke in a languid voice. We turned and saw our exhausted young table companion, Jimmy Doon, who had arrived on deck, yawning, to assume the duties of Officer on Submarine Watch. "After the war, sure," answered Doe. Mr. Doon looked pained at such folly. "My tedious lad," he said, "do I gather that you are in the cavalry?" "You do not, Jimmy," said Doe. "Nor yet in the artillery?" "No, Jimmy." "Then I conceive you to be in the infantry." "You conceive aright, Jimmy." "Well, then, don't be an unseemly ass. There'll be no 'after the war' for the infantry."