With much laboured breathing he wrote the owner’s name and address, and, carefully tacking the card on the lid of the sea-chest, stood back to admire the result. ‘Effects of the Late Lieutenant Shelldon, R.N.----’ Through the open port the sound of an order floated, and the churning of twin screws. It was ‘147’ going to sea. A Sub-Lieutenant and a Midshipman stood on the quarter-deck of a neighbouring battleship. * * * * * Said the ‘Sub,’ aged twenty, to the ‘Snotty,’ aged nineteen, ‘I bearded the Commander in his den to-day, and flopped in my application.’ ‘Did you? What did he say?’ inquired the Midshipman. ‘Look out, he’s over there. Said it was all right and he’d see the Captain about it to-morrow.’ ‘You lucky beggar. I wish I could get in, but they won’t take us “Snotties.”’ ‘Perhaps you’ll get in when you’re my age,’ returned the bearder of Commanders patronisingly. ‘By gum, yes. I hope so. I’ve always wanted to be in a submarine, ever since the Marmora business.’ He gazed across at the _Parentis_. ‘Look, there’s one of them going to sea. Can you see which she is?’ The ‘Sub’ shaded his eyes. ‘“147,” I think. Billings is in her. He’s my term, and he got in without much trouble. I ought to get it in two months or so with any luck.’ ‘That’ll mean drinks all round then, that’s one comfort,’ said the Midshipman enviously. ‘Oh, I shan’t mind standing drinks once I’ve got it. Man, you’re practically your own boss there. Think of it, no school or bally drills. You’re not treated as a child like you are here.’ ‘I don’t know about that. That picket-boat job I had yesterday wasn’t much of a joke.’ A signalman came through the screen door and approached the Commander, who was conferring with the Boatswain on the other side of the quarter-deck. ‘Signal, sir,’ he reported. The Commander looked round impatiently. ‘Well, what is it? Read it out.’ ‘Flag, General, sir. From two to three p.m. Colours will be ’alf mast owing to the loss of Submarine “159.”’ ‘All right. Show it to the Officer of the Watch. Now, about that new manilla, Mr Bostock....’ The signalman saluted and carried on. THE BOGIE-MAN I ‘Oh, mother dear, was that a whale?’ the baby porpoise said. ‘Now, hush, my Little Beautiful, it’s time you were in bed.’ ‘Or, mother, could it be a shark that gave me such a fright, Or was it just a phantasy that passes with the night?’ II ‘Now, hush, my Little Beautiful. If you don’t go to sleep, I’ll have to call the Bogie-Man, the Bogie of the Deep. Be good, or he will swallow you; his teeth are sharp and keen, He’s here, he’s there, he’s everywhere. That grisly Submarine!’ ‘EXERCISE ATTACKS’