“Still,” continued Boone appreciatively, “that sergeant was a bird. At the start, we regarded him as a pure vaudeville act. He talked just like a stage Englishman, for one thing. For another, a German bullet had gone right through his face—in at one cheek and out at the other—and that didn’t help make a William Jennings Bryan of him. But William J. had nothing on him; neither had Will Rogers, for that matter. He would stand there in front of us and put over a line of stuff that made everybody weak with laughing—everybody, that is, except the fellow he was talking to. I shall never forget the first morning we held an Officers’ Instruction Class. There were about forty of us. Old man Duckett—that was his name; Sergeant Instructor Duckett—marched us around, and put us through our paces. We meant to show him something—we were a chesty bunch in those days—so we gave him what we imagined was a first-class West Point show. (Not that any of us had been at West Point.) When we had done enough, he lined us up, and said: ‘Well, gentlemen, I have run over your points, and before dismissin’ the parade I should like to say that I only wish the President of the United States was here to see you. If he _did_ catch sight of you, I know that his first words would be—”Thank Gawd, from the bottom of my heart, we’ve got a Navy!“’” To Boone and Miss Lane now enter others. (This is a trial to which Master Boone is growing accustomed, for Miss Lane is quite the prettiest girl on the ship.) Among them we note one Jim Nichols, who, previous to America’s entry into the War, has worked upon the New Orleans Cotton Exchange “ever since he can remember.” There is also Major Powers, wearing the ribbon of the Spanish War medal. There are two Naval officers, crossing over to pursue submarines. Until they begin, Miss Lane makes a very pleasant substitute. And there is a British officer who walks with a limp—Captain Norton—returning from a spell of duty as Military Instructor in a Texas training-camp. Miss Lane, with the instinct of a true hostess, turns to the stranger. “We were talking about our rookies, Captain,” she announces. “How did they compare with your Kitchener’s Army?” “Very much the same, Miss Lane, in the early days. Fish out of the water, all of them. We had all sorts—miners, shipbuilders, farm-hands, railway-men, newspaper-boys—and not one of them knew the smallest thing about soldiering. They knew pretty well everything else, I admit. The ranks were chock-full of experts—engineers, plumbers, electricians, glass-blowers, printers, musicians. I remember one of my men put himself down as an ‘egg-tester’—whatever that may be! An actor, perhaps. But hardly one of them knew his right foot from his left when it came to forming fours.”