ing inscription in brass letters:

DON'T KNOCK.
COME IN.

The Officer of the Watch drew back the curtain and motioned to his
companion to enter. "Lieutenant Commander Standish, sir," he said.

The Commander, who was writing at a knee-hole table, turned and rose with
his grave, slow smile.

"Come in, Bunje," he said, holding out his hand. "Very glad you've got
here at last." He laid his left hand for an instant on the India-rubber
Man's shoulder and searched his face with kindly grey eyes. "How're the
wounds and the wife and all the other things you've collected since I saw
you last?"

The India-rubber Man laughed.

"They're all right, sir, thanks." He glanced at the cap, with its gold
oak leaves adorning the brim, lying on the desk. "I haven't
congratulated you on your promotion yet," he added. "I was awfully glad
to hear you had got your 'brass hat'!"

The Commander laughed. "I still turn round when anyone sings out 'Number
One,'" he replied. "I was beginning to feel as if I'd been a First
Lieutenant all my life! Seems quite funny not to be chivvying round
after the flat-sweepers." He resumed his seat. "Well, you'll find a few
of the old lot here: there's the Skipper of course, and Double-O
Gerrard--d'you remember the A.P.? And little Pills: he's Staff Surgeon
now, and no end of a nut... Let's see--oh, yes, and young Bowses: he
used to be one of our snotties, if you remember. 'Kedgeree,' the others
called him. He's Sub of the Gunroom. That's about all of the old lot in
the Channel Fleet. But I think you'll like all the rest. It's a very
happy mess."

The India-rubber Man was roving round the cabin examining photographs.

"Hullo!" he said. "You've got poor old Torps's photo here."

"Yes," was the reply. "I--I met a woman when I was on leave, of whom he
was very fond. She had two of his photographs and gave me that one."
The Commander had risen to his feet and was staring out of the scuttle
with absent eyes. "But, come along. The Skipper wants to see you, and
then I'll take you along to the mess. It's getting on for lunch time.
What sort of a journey did you have?"

Still chatting they left the superstructure and passed aft along the
spacious quarterdeck, where, round the flanks of the great superimposed
turrets, a part of the watch were sweeping down the deck and squaring off
ropes. The Commander led the way down a hatchway aft to an electric-lit
lobby, where a marine sent