Strange and mixed were many of the opinions which flew from lip to lip in the overcrowded homeward bound trains and 'buses. True, there were many who read the well-told story of the skilful journalist as they might read a sensational tale in a sixpenny magazine. They enjoyed it. They devoured it hungrily. Then they passed on to the sports page, and considered the doings of their favorites in the sporting world. But the suburban ratepayer, the householder whose responsibilities left him no alternative but to take himself seriously, was of a different calibre. He possesses to the full the stolid, fault-finding mind of the British race. He is as full of prejudice as the egg is supposed to be full of meat. He is ready at all times to hurl blame and anathema at the heads of those who conspire to extract from his pocket the necessary funds to contrive that he shall live in security and comfort in his home. He is the victim of a splendid pessimism for all things except his summer holiday. His opinions come like a shot from a gun. He read with incredulity until he arrived at the point where he felt righteously he could open afresh the rut of his ever-ready disapproval. Then the full force of what he read percolated heavily through his fog of prejudiced incredulity, and virtuous indignation supervened. "What was this absurd nonsense? Who ever heard of submersible merchantmen? What fresh folly of the Government was coming now? The Prime Minister on the trial trip. Why the devil didn't he stick to his job in Downing Street? The moment these fellows got their five thousand a year they didn't care a hang for the country. Playing about with these toys of some crazy inventor. It made one sick. Anyway, if the Government were concerned in the scheme, why was it kept secret? Why wasn't the taxpayer told of it? Who was making the money out of it? Somebody. There was always graft in these secret things. There was too much of this hole-in-the-corner business--entirely too much. Altogether too much disregard for the liberty of the subject," etc., etc. But the Fleet Street chorus of "epochs" and "masterly moves" and "strokes of statesmanship" found an abiding echo amongst the optimists. They saw, with eyes wide open, that which they read. There was no grumble in them. Why should there be? That which they read told them clearly of success. It told them that never again would Britain's overseas commerce be placed in jeopardy from enemy attack in time of war; that is, if British enterprise would only rise to the opportunity afforded. That was simple enough. Of course the ship-owners would see their advantage. Germany--pah!