"KNOW anything about motor bikes?" inquired Morpeth, helping himself to a liberal chunk of margarine and pushing the earthenware jar across to his companion. "After you with the jam. Thank heaven it's not the everlasting plum and apple!" Meredith and the "owner" of Q 171 were at tea in the ward-room. Wakefield was taking deck duties in conjunction with the Q-boat's official sub-lieutenant--a youth of twenty, Ainslie by name. Tea was served in war time fashion afloat--an iron-moulded table-cloth, two enamelled cups, plates of the same material, and wooden-handled steel knives that had evidently not made the acquaintance of a knife-board since they came aboard. A loaf of large and decidedly ancient appearance, a pot of jam and a generous pat of margarine (referred to in conversation as nut-butter) formed the edible part of the feast. Black, strongly brewed tea, condensed milk and moist sugar in more senses than one combined to provide liquid refreshment. The whole contents of the swing table were executing a rhythmic dance with the vibrations of the twin engines, the propeller shafts of which ran under and on either side of the table. "I have one," replied Meredith. "At least I believe I have--unless my young brother has pinched it," he added feelingly and with the knowledge of past experiences. "Why?" "Rather curious to know what you paid for it?" replied Morpeth. "As a matter of fact I got it a great bargain from a pal of mine who was given a commission in '15," replied Meredith. "Twenty-two pounds." "I guess I can beat that," remarked the R.N.R. officer, deliberately and deftly harpooning a slice of bread in the act of skimming over the fidleys on to the floor. "I bought one for a sovereign." "Scrap iron, then," declared Kenneth. "No; in good running order," continued Morpeth, "twin cylinders, magneto, countershaft, kick starter and all that sort of fake-a-lorum. True, the old 'bus had been in the ditch for a fortnight. Do you remember when the old _Tantalus_ was torpedoed some while back? They got her into shallow water down Cornwall. Well, this motor bike was on board. Bought it from a chap called Farrar, who told me he had bought it from a marine officer for four bob and had refused a fiver for it as the vessel was sinking. Spent best part of seven days' leave cleaning the thing up, and now, by Jove!----" "You're wanted on deck, sir," exclaimed a sailor excitedly. "We've just sighted two men in the ditch----" Taking a hasty and copious gulp of tea on the principle that "you never know when you may get another chance," Lieutenant-Commander Morpeth ran up the ladder, Meredith only hanging back sufficiently to clear the heels of the R.N.R. officer's seaboots.