Hardly had Derek settled his scanty belongings when he was sent for by the C.O. His first official task was to accompany the Colonel and the Major to a large private house adjoining, which had recently been commandeered for officers' quarters. The former occupiers--a lady and her daughter--still remained in possession of a room in the basement. The Colonel allotted the rooms, Derek's duty being to pin a cardboard strip, bearing the various officers' names, on the doors. He was on the point of completing the work when the late owner spoke to him. "I quite understand," said she, "that my house is taken over by the Royal Air Force; but would you give my compliments to the Colonel and tell him that I must object to having one of my best rooms turned into a wood and coal store." Somewhat mystified, Derek asked to be shown the room referred to. He hadn't the faintest recollection of any room being given over as a fuel store. "Oh, yes, I can show you," rejoined the lady. "Here you are." She pointed to the door of a large room on the ground floor. On it was written "Lieuts. Woods and Coles". Admirably concealing his desire to smile Derek explained. "I am so sorry," replied the evicted tenant apologetically. "I am rather short-sighted. I quite thought it was 'Wood and Coals'." Punctually at four bells Derek turned in, and, notwithstanding the hardness of his plank-bed, he slept soundly, lulled by the murmur of the surf upon the sand. It was the end of his first day of home service in a new branch. To-morrow he was to start work in earnest as a motor-boat officer of the Royal Air Force. CHAPTER XIX U-boat versus Motor-boat For the next few days the work of turning chaos into order and knocking raw material into fairly smart crews proceeded apace. Patience and energy overcame difficulties, and although there were many ludicrous displays afloat, "George Robey's Marines", as they were dubbed by the Fisherton seafolk, managed to make considerable headway without any serious accident. The crew told off under Derek's orders were a mixed lot. One was a solicitor, another a master from a public school, numbers three and four were bank clerks, while the fifth was a Lancashire coal-miner. Once having overcome the tendency to refer to the boat as "it", and to the bows as the "pointed end", they began to get into shape. Mornings they spent in lecture-rooms ashore, listening to and trying to master the theory of compass-work, knots and splices, and the use of the lead-line. This instruction was varied by lessons in signalling, the intricacies of the Naval and International Codes, semaphore and Morse being patiently explained by the Signalling Instructor--a hard-working individual whose soul appeared to be wrapped up in bunting from the eight a.m. parade to five and after seven-thirty in the evening.