"That's mighty interesting," mused Ned; "of course, I have read of the government's experiments with Chaosite. It is supposed to be, I believe, the most powerful of all explosives yet discovered. It's great to think that we are on board the first ship to try it under actual battle conditions." "I wish we could get on the crew of that gun," put in Herc. "I'd like mighty well to see just how that Chewusite acts when it's touched off. Regular Fourth of July, I guess. Pop-boom-fizz! Up in the air!--stars!--bang--down comes the stick!" As Herc spoke, in his newly recovered vitality, he swung his pot of slate-colored paint about, to illustrate his meaning. As ill-luck would have it, the wire handle was not oversecurely fastened, and off flew the receptacle of the pigment with which the turret was being covered. "Oh, crickey! Now I've done it!" groaned Herc, as he felt the bucket slip from the handle and go hurtling down. The next moment Ned echoed his chum's exclamation of dismay, as he saw what had occurred. To make matters worse, at that very moment the redoubtable Kennell was passing beneath the turret, on his way aft to clean some brasswork, and had turned his face upward, preparatory to flinging some jeering remark at the two Dreadnought Boys. The contents of the unlucky pot of paint fell full on his sneering features, blotting them out in a sticky cloud of gray pigment! CHAPTER XII. A BULLY GETS A LESSON. For a moment the big form of the paint-covered bully swayed about blindly and helplessly. Then, dashing the paint from his eyes, he emitted a roar like that of a stricken bull. Jackies at work near at hand, who had seen the accident, gazed at Herc, who had by this time slid to the deck--in a sort of pitying way. They knew Kennell too well to suppose that he would let such an occurrence--even if it were an accident--pass by unrevenged. "I'm sorry, Kennell; it was an accident," exclaimed Herc, one hand extended, and the other gathering up the loose end of his work-blouse; "here, let me wipe some of it off with this." He stepped forward, with the intention of doing all he could to repair the damage he had unwittingly caused, but Kennell, with an angry sweep of his arm, waved him furiously back. To increase the bully's rage, some of the men near at hand began to laugh. "My! what a lovely complexion the kid has when he's all rouged up!" laughed one. "Kennell's got his battle-paint on," jeered another. It was easy to see that none of the men particularly regretted the accident to the bully, whom none of them had any particular reason to love. From their suspended bosn's chairs, Ned and old Tom watched the scene with some apprehensions. Ned was a shrewd enough reader of character to know that the affair could hardly end by Kennell's peaceably accepting Herc's apology; while old Tom knew Kennell's nature too well to entertain any doubt that the young seaman was in for a terrible trouncing.