The speaker spat over the side to emphasise his point, and relapsed into silence. The lower deck sat round in small knots and coteries and smoked for the most part without unnecessary speech. The pipes were going, the evening was dark and still, and the lower deck was in a contemplative mood. ‘Yes,’ continued the Seaman Gunner, ‘’im and ’is mates was gentlemen.’ ‘Pal o’ mine, Mick ’Ardy, was in ’er,’ quoth the S.T. ‘Fust trip in a submarine, too. Out fer trainin’. ’Ard I calls it.’ ‘Strewth,’ said a voice out of the darkness, ‘we was on ’er patrol last trip. Bit o’ luck we didn’t come a kisser.’ ‘It was that,’ put in the signalman. ‘We’re doo out to-morrow.’ Once more silence. Three bells struck and a bugle sounded from a distant battleship. ‘I’d like to know wot ’appened,’ said the voice out of the darkness. ‘Struck a mine likely. When I come into submarines, my old woman she sez to me----’ ‘Stow it,’ growled the Seaman Gunner. ‘Only the other day, ’e sez, “’Bout time,” ’e sez, “you went up for Leading Seaman. I want to see you gettin’ a ’ead. I’ll ’elp you through,” ’e sez.’ ‘Wot I think,’ said the Stoker, ‘is, strike me pink. If I don’t pulverise the first ruddy ’Un I meets, Gawd strike me pink.’ ‘Pipe down,’ shrilled the bos’n’s mate. * * * * * Private Boon was busy. He stood in his shirt-sleeves in the midst of a chaos of his own making. Outside the cabin was a sea-chest of generous proportions, and in the bunk he had placed a tin uniform case, a helmet case, and divers bags and portmanteaux. He was a careful packer, but his methods were unique. He liked to see things round him, and after the manner of an inquisitive terrier, he began to strip the drawers of their contents and strew garments high and low. The table, the chairs, and the bunk was soon piled high, and when the last drawer gaped void and empty he surveyed his handiwork with the eye of a connoisseur. But he showed himself a past master of the art when he began packing the uniforms in the tin case. Every article was carefully shaken, brushed and folded, and reverently placed in its appointed spot. This portion of his labours completed, he dealt with the sea-chest, and by that time the collection round the cabin had materially decreased. Having finished the clothes at last, he turned to the more personal objects, scrutinising each one before finally disposing of it. ‘Ash tray, silver too,’ he soliloquised. ‘Give ’im by a girl likely. ’Air brushes, monogram an’ all. Nice bit o’ work. Books, letters, fountain pen. I think that’s the lot.’ His eye caught a small silver frame standing on the table forlorn and forgotten. ‘’Ullo, photograph.’ He held it to the light. ‘Nice-looking young woman, _and_ a kid. Might be ’is Missis. P’raps it is, poor gell!’ He locked the cases and looked round the cabin. ‘Nothin’ forgot. No. I think that’s all this time.’