Sam took his seat at the mess table mechanically. As a matter of fact he felt dazed. He had expected a rebuke and he had received a promotion instead. He was aroused from his abstraction by the voice of his chum. “Good boy!” breathed Dan. “I am proud of you. Fine! I knew you would show them the material you are made of when you got the chance. Were you really struck by lightning?” “I don’t know. I think it must have been the thunder clap that hit me, though I didn’t hear it. But wasn’t that gun a sight? Nearly tore the clothes off my back in the bargain.” “Burn you anywhere?” “I guess not.” Sam turned his palms up mechanically and opened his eyes in amazement. They had been burned by the electric fluid until they were black to the finger tips. “Waugh!” he exclaimed. “Good thing it didn’t do that to my face, or I’d look just like the Pennsylvania Dutchman.” Sam, having his liberty, made a trip to the town that afternoon. It was his first trip there since arriving at the Training School. First, however, he procured his new rating badge and, after consulting with a petty officer, sewed it on his sleeve. Sam strutted around for some time after that, holding up his arm so that he might feast his eyes on the red-lined rating mark. He felt very proud of it, and his companion, Dan Davis, was no less proud of him. In the town Sam found many other apprentices on liberty, and at their invitation he joined them, spending the rest of the afternoon in wandering about. They made him tell about his experiences in being struck by lightning that morning, which Sam did with more or less relish. “I imagine it was almost like being in a battle, fellows,” he said. “If you got a clip like that in battle, I reckon you wouldn’t be bragging about it afterwards,” suggested one. “I’m not bragging about it,” protested Hickey indignantly. “What’s the matter with you? Besides, I’m an officer, now, and officers don’t have to brag. They do things that speak for themselves.” “Hear him talk! He’s got a swelled head already,” jeered one of the party. “You’ll have a chance, to-morrow, to see whether you are any good or not.” “What do you mean?” “Can you shoot?” Sam grinned. “Don’t make me laugh. I can shoot the eyes out of a spud as far as I can see it.” “What’s a spud?” piped a voice. “You a sailor, and don’t know what a spud is?” scoffed Sam. “A spud is a spud, otherwise known as a potato. I am surprised at your ignorance.” “Louis Flink says he’s going to clean up the whole crowd of us, to-morrow, when we get to shooting.” “Shooting?” “Yes.” “Shooting at what?” “Targets.” “Are we going to do that?” “Sure, and the ones who make the best scores will be promoted, I understand. The officers always do that. They are going to try out the apprentices, to see who is good enough to qualify for the sharpshooting record of the station.” Hickey’s eyes glowed. As soon as possible thereafter he excused himself. Boarding a street car, he returned to the station.