They were more than junior officers to him. One was the son of an old comrade and the others had served long under his command. To them he had been, no doubt, rather a terrifying person with four gold stripes on his sleeve, but to him, they were his boys; he had been through it all himself, he was training them, and he was proud of them. Above all came the Service, and he had trained them for the good of the Service. A kindly word now and again and a sharp reprimand when needed had been the secret of his successes, and beneath his gruff exterior he had a warm feeling towards them. Now he had lost them and his work was to do over again. His hand was about to bring grief unspeakable to their dearest and.... He finished his letters; the few kindly, sympathetic words that were to be almost death-blows on the morrow, and as he raised his head from the table and glanced into the mirror he saw the face of a tired old man. * * * * * Blake picked up the photograph and held it close to the electric light. As he studied the honest face it depicted, his memory flew back to the _Britannia_ days when Shelldon and he had started their careers. They had been the same term and had gone through all their early trials and tribulations together. Later, ‘Snatcher’ had spent one or two holidays with him, and years afterwards the friendship had been cemented by his engagement to Blake’s sister. He remembered the wedding, and how as best man he had put in one of the hardest day’s work in his life. He smiled as he recalled his friend’s delight when first he had been promoted to captain of a boat, and he put down the photograph and sighed. ‘It seemed so cold-blooded. To go out and just disappear. No trace, nothing. Blown to pieces on a mine probably. He could picture the scene. The men quietly reading and talking and then suddenly a blinding crash and nothing more. If some one could only have seen them. But the two destroyers that went in search had only found a patch of oil. Just went out and disappeared. And Molly....’ A knock sounded at the door. ‘Come in,’ he called, hastily stowing the photograph away. Raymond entered with an air of studied indifference. ‘Hope you’re not busy, old man,’ he said with forced gaiety. ‘No, no. I’m not doing anything. Come in.’ ‘Good. I wanted to know if you would lend me your T.I. to-morrow. Mine’s gone sick and I’ve got a job of work on hand I want finished.’ ‘Yes, of course, you can. Take him and bless you. I’ll send a chit to my “Sub” about it.’ Raymond hovered with the door-knob in his hand, opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and left quietly. Out in the flat, he faced his friend’s cabin, and raising his fists in the air, called Heaven to witness. ‘Oh, Bloody War!’ he exclaimed. * * * * * ‘As a general rule, mind you, I don’t ’old with officers, but ’e was a gentleman.’