"One can imagine a cross section of the boat showing our
room at the North Sea's yellowish sand bottom, to which all kinds of
crawling and swimming animals give life. In here four feasting, happy
officers around a little table on which a warm electric light is shining
with the wine bottle in the center and with the glasses raised to a
solemn toast. Above--water, water, water--water to the height of a church
steeple and, over it all, the glittering heavens full of stars and a
small silver-white piece of the moon. If I were a painter I should
immediately start with this motive for a picture."

"And give me the picture, I hope," I laughed. "And, after all, not such
a bad idea about that picture--one should in reality propose such a
motive to an artist."

"Maybe it would be possible to put in a couple of mermaids who look in
through the conning tower window inquisitively and knock with their
fingers on the glass," said Petersen, our youngest lieutenant, with a
smile. "That would undoubtedly make the picture still more attractive."

Groening, who during the entire time had listened with a quiet smile to
the conversation, took out his empty cigar holder, on which he always
chewed when we were under water because, as a heavy smoker, he missed
tobacco, as none of us was allowed to smoke inside the boat. Slowly he
said with a touch of irony, in a deep, sympathetic voice:

"Here, my dear Petersen, you are an unreasonable rascal. If there are no
women in the game, then there is no pleasure for you. Doesn't the fellow
actually talk about mermaids when he tells us every fourth week he is
going to become engaged. 'This time it's absolutely certain! This time
I surely will do it, as I will never find such a girl again.' This and
more I hear every month. What was the last one's name that you intended
to make happy--your March girl? Wait, I have it--the February girl--ha, ha,
ha--has the captain heard the story of the February girl?"

He turned to me laughing.

"Will you shut up, Groening!" Petersen burst forth and blushed up to his
ears. "I'll tell you that if you tell tales out of school--and besides----"

"Well, Petersen," I encouraged, "what 'besides'?"

"Besides, all that is not true," he continued and blushed still more
when he noticed that he had betrayed himself. "_You_ should certainly
keep quiet," he went on suddenly, beaming with an idea, and began to
attack in order to lead the conversation away from himself. "He who