p on deck the minute we emerged. He was
pretty damn spry about it, too. I took another look through the
periscope, and saw that the destroyer lay about two miles away, and as I
looked she came for me _again_. Meanwhile, my signal-man was hauling
himself out of the hatchway as if his legs were in boiling water."

[Sidenote: The Stars and Stripes signal to the destroyer.]

"We've got her!" cried somebody aboard the destroyer, in a deep American
voice full of the exultation of battle. The lean rifles swung, lowered.
"Point one, lower." They were about to hear "Fire!" when the Stars and
Stripes and sundry other signals burst from the deck of the misused
_Z-3_.

"Well, what do you think of that!" said the gunner. "If it ain't one of
our own gang. Say, we must have given it to 'em hard."

"We'll go over and see who it is," said the captain of the destroyer.
"The signals are O.K., but it may be a dodge of the Huns. Ask 'em who
they are."

In obedience to the order, a sailor on the destroyer's bridge wigwagged
the message.

"_Z-3_," answered one of the dungaree-clad figures on the submarine's
deck.

[Sidenote: No resentment of the adventure.]

Captain Bill came up himself, as the destroyer drew alongside, to see
his would-be assassin. There was no resentment in his heart. The
adventure was only part of the day's work. The destroyer neared; her bow
overlooked them. The two captains looked at each other. The dialogue was
laconic.

"Hello, Bill," said the destroyer captain. "All right?"

"Sure," answered Captain Bill, to one who had been his friend and
classmate.

"Ta-ta, then," said he of the destroyer; and the lean vessel swept away
in the twilight.

[Sidenote: The cook's opinion of the destroyers.]

Captain Bill decided to stay on the surface for a while. Then he went
below to look over things. The cook, standing over some unlovely slop
which marked the end of a half a dozen eggs broken by the concussion,
was giving his opinion on destroyers. The cook was a child of Brooklyn,
and could talk. The opinion was not a nice opinion.

"Give it to 'em, cooko," said one of the crew, patting the orator
affectionately on the shoulder. "We're with you."

And Captain Bill laughed to himself.

The breakfast-hour was drawing to its end, and the very last straggler
sat alone at the ward-room table. Presently an officer of the
mother-ship, passing through, called to the lingering group of
submarine officers.

[Sidenote: