he work more seriously than their
younger mates. They were studying gunnery, and hoped to get into the gun
crew of the _Kennebunk_ for practice if they were fortunate enough to
cruise on that ship. Just at present Frenchy and Ikey Rosenmeyer were
more engaged in getting all the fun possible out of existence.

The thing that delighted the latter most was the way in which his father
treated him. Mr. Rosenmeyer had been a stern parent, and had opposed
Ikey's desire to enlist in the Navy. He always declared he needed the
boy to help in the store and to take out orders. Ikey had got so that he
fairly hated the store and its stock in trade. Pigs feet and sauerkraut
and dill pickles were the bane of his life.

Now that he was at home on leave, Mr. Rosenmeyer would not let Ikey help
at all in the store. If a customer came in, the fat little storekeeper
heaved himself up from his armchair and bade Ikey sit still.

"Nein! It iss not for you, Ikey. Don't bodder 'bout the store yet. We
haf changed de stock around, anyvay, undt you could not find it,
p'r'aps, vot de lady vants. Tell us again, Ikey, apout shootin' de
camouflage off de German raider-poat, de _Graf von Posen_. Mebby-so de
lady ain't heardt apout it yet. I didn't see it in de paper
meinselluf."

So Ikey, thus urged, spun the most wonderful yarns regarding his
adventures; and he was not obliged to "draw the long bow"; for the
experiences of him and his three friends had been exciting indeed.

Mr. Rosenmeyer had become as thoroughly patriotic as he once had been
pro-German. It was a great cross to him now that he could not learn to
speak English properly. But German names he abhorred and German signs he
would no longer allow in the store. He even put a newly-printed sign
over the sauerkraut barrel which read: "Liberty Cabbage."

Into the store on a misty morning rolled Frenchy Donahue in his most
pronounced Old Salt fashion. Frenchy had acquired such a sailorish roll
to his walk, that Al Torrance hinted more than once that the Irish lad
could not get to sleep at night now that he was ashore until his mother
went out and threw several buckets of water against his bedroom window.

"Hey, Ikey! what you think?" called Frenchy. "Channel bass are running.
Whistler and Torry are going out in the _Sue Bridger_. What d'you know
about that? Bridger's let 'em have his cat for the day. Never was known
to do such a thing before," and Frenchy chuckled. "Oh, boy! aren't we
having