It was 1.40 a.m. on a certain Monday in March of the year of grace 1918. Seton, warned by telegram to rejoin his ship, H.M. Torpedo-boat Destroyer _Bolero_, had been handicapped by reason of the Sunday train service. Due to report at Rosyth at 10 a.m. he found himself at midnight held up at Leeds with the unpleasant prospect of having to wait until 1.50 a.m. before the mail train took him on to Edinburgh. Seton had been spending part of a well-earned spell of leave at his parents' house in the Peak District. An urgent message demanded his recall before half the period of leave had expired, which was no unusual occurrence in war-time. What was exasperating was the fact that the wire had been delivered at 6 p.m. on Sunday, and even by rushing off and catching the first available train Alec found, on perusing the time-table and consulting various railway officials, that it would be impossible to arrive at Edinburgh before twenty minutes minutes to eight on Monday morning. That left, only a little more than two hours to continue his journey to Inverkeithing and then on to Rosyth. Even then he had no idea where the _Bolero_ was lying, whether she was alongside the jetty or on moorings out on the Forth. To say the least it was "cutting things a bit fine", but it was a point of honour that, if humanly possible, Seton should report himself on board at the hour specified. "An' we were going into dock for eighteen days for refit," mused the Sub. "Wonder what's butted in to upset things? Some stunt over the other side, or only another sea-trip out and home again, without catching sight of a measly Hun. By Jove, I'm hungry. I'm experiencing an unpleasant feeling in a certain sector of the front." Vainly he regretted that on his hasty departure he had omitted to provide himself with refreshment. Counting on finding a restaurant-car he had been disappointed; while, on arriving at Leeds, he found it impossible at that hour to get a meal at an hotel. The sight of half a dozen Tommies in full field-kit emerging from a Y.M.C.A. refreshment-room, and dilating upon the excellence of the hot coffee and cakes, filled him with envious desires, which, however, did little to satisfy the cravings of the inner man. "Ah, I've no belt to tighten," he soliloquized grimly. "Six or seven more hours to go, and not a chance of a snack. Hallo, what's this? Out of tobacco, too, by Jove." Very ruefully Alec surveyed his worn and trusted pouch. Only a pinch of dried dust remained. "The last straw," he muttered. "Must grin and bear it, I suppose. I'd rather be keeping middle watch somewhere in the North Sea." A truck, propelled by an undersized man, came into view. The truck was surmounted by a green box with glass panels and brass rails. From a small funnel steam was issuing. Already half a dozen belated passengers were crowding round the new arrival. "A perambulating coffee-stall," declared Alec. "My luck's turned."