f. There are
too many folks here."

He did not take kindly to so much approbation. He felt that Lieutenant
Perkins had already said enough.

Although Whistler and his mates had no duties to perform on the S. P.
888, they did not turn in that night at all. To tell the truth the
chaser was making an awfully rough passage of it, and although they were
inured to the discomforts of their beloved _Colodia_ in stormy weather,
this was even worse.

They kept out of the way of the watch on duty, but remained for the
most part on deck, as they were free to do. The watchlights on the
shore, those in the lighthouses and the lamps in certain seaside
hamlets, gave them their position from time to time. They were aware
long before daylight that they were drawing near to the harbor mouth of
the port where the superdreadnaught lay.

It was blowing a whole gale (in nautical language, sixty-five miles or
more an hour) and as the submarine chaser was meeting the seas on a
slant, it might almost as well have been a hurricane. As Frenchy said:

"The smaller the boat, the bigger the wind seems. And a 'happy thought'
like this chaser will kick up like a frisky colt in a dead calm, I do
believe. By St. Patrick's piper that played the last snake out of
Ireland! I'll be a week gittin' over this pitchin'. What d'you say,
Mister Torrance, acushla?"

"Don't blather me!" growled Torry.

"Hast thou a feeling that all is not well in the daypartment av the
intayrior?" teased the Irish lad, who would joke at all times and upon
the most serious subjects.

"Torry does look a bit green about the gills," put in Whistler.

"Serves him right for eatin' crab-meat salad there at Yancey's,"
declared Ikey Rosenmeyer. "That's nice chow to go to sea on, yet."

"I don't have to ask you what to eat," said Torry gruffly.

"Oi, oi! That's right," agreed Ikey. "Just the same I could tell you
lots better than that."

The boys had sampled the cook's coffee, but not much else, since
embarking on the S. P. 888. It was true that the pitching of the chaser
was not conducive to a ravenous appetite.

"If Uncle kept all his bluejackets on these submarine chasers," said
Whistler, "he'd save money on grub. I wonder these fellows," referring
to the crew of the S. P. 888, "manage to keep up with their rations."

The little craft swerved at last and took the waves directly astern as
she ran shoreward. The mouth of the harbor opened up to her, and in the
gray light, a