Under this friendly guidance they went through Quarters without mishap, and, immediately afterwards, went below with Reedham. On their way to the Gunroom they passed through the Chest Flat, an ill-lighted section of the main deck, flanked on the port side by cabins and on the starboard side by the Gunroom and the Gunroom pantry. The whole of the centre of the flat was occupied by the Engine-room casing, on either side of which passages led, for’ard to the men’s quarters, and aft to the half-deck. Through a door in the starboard passage they entered their new home. The Gunroom was a long, very narrow room, about seven feet high, built almost entirely of steel. Its outboard wall was the curving side of the ship, and was pierced at intervals by scuttles, which visitors referred to as windows. Its inboard wall, which it had in common with the Chest Flat, contained the doors. The after-bulkhead was unbroken, and for’ard were the pantry hatch and the serving slab. The furniture, though not elaborate, occupied most of the floor space. A long, narrow, leather-cushioned seat, always called the settee, was attached to the ship’s side. Parallel to this a table was screwed to the deck. Between the doors stood a sideboard, covered with innumerable weekly and daily papers; and overhead, screwed to the walls, was a series of small wooden lockers, between which and the beams above were kept such sextants as were not for the moment in pawn. A stove, a few chairs, and a piano completed the Gunroom’s regular equipment. The place had an air of hard usage, and bore witness in a thousand ways to the manner of its occupants’ lives. The only decorations were a few cheap prints, some of Transatlantic and some, perhaps, of German inspiration, representing ladies who were not merely insufficiently clothed, but who seemed, oddly enough, to have definitely completed their toilette when they had donned a pair of silk stockings or a diminutive undergarment. In their eyes invitation was conveyed by means of a formula, having no connection with art or life, which seldom fails to produce commercial profit. They hung there, eternally grinning, eternally brandishing their insistent legs, the remarkable substitute for womanhood which our generation has learned to recognize and accept. Near them, as if to throw them into overpowering contrast with reality, oilskins, which smelt strongly, hung with dirks and belts from pegs on the wall. The deck, the stove, and the settee were littered with papers, books, pipes, tobacco-tins and cigarette-ash. At the end of the table, on which cards, a dice-thrower, and a couple of empty glasses were grouped incongruously with teacups, the Sub was sitting. “Hullo, Reedham,” he exclaimed, “who are your young friends?” Then he pointed a finger at Sentley. “You with the innocent face, are you the new warts?” Not yet accustomed to this usual description of very junior midshipmen, Sentley hesitated before he answered: “Yes, sir!”