,
an' was free to turn back an' try to start a divershun for the poor ol'
_Killarney_.

[Footnote C: Torpedo Gunner's Mate.]

"Her fires looked to be dyin' down when we first picked her up, but
right after that some more projes bust on her an' she started blazin'
harder than ever. I watched for the spittin' o' that littl' after gun,
but when it come it looked to spurt right out o' the heart o' a blazin'
furnace, showin' the fire was now burnin' from stem to stern. One more
salvo plastered over her, an' that one got no reply. The good ol'
'_Killy_' had shot her bolt, an' her finish looked a matter o' minnits.

"It was plain enough if anyone was still livin' they was goin' to need
pickin' up in a hurry, an' the captain put the _Firebran'_ at full speed
to close her an' stan' by to give a han'. Just then I saw a Hun
searchlight turned on and start feelin' its way up to where the
_Killarney_ was burning, wi' a cru'ser followin' up the small end o' the
beam, seemin' to be nosin' in to end the mis'ry. She did not bear right
for a mouldie, but we opened up wi' the foremost gun, an' I saw the
shells bustin' on her bridge and fo'c'sl' like rotten apples chucked
'against a wall. The light blinked off as the first proj hit home, but
there was no way to tell if it was shot away or no. It was the second
time that night that we'd done our bit to ease off the hell turned loose
on the _Killarney_. Likewise it was the last. From then on we had our
own partic'lar hell to wriggle out of, wi' no time left to play 'Venging
Nemisus' to our stricken sisters. Just a big bonfire sittin' on the sea
an' lickin' a hole in the night wi' its flames--that was the last I saw
of the ol' _Killarney_."

Melton paused for a moment as if engrossed in the memories conjured up
by his narrative, and I took advantage of the interval to hand him one
of those most loved lollipops of Yankee youngster-hood, a plump, hard
ball of toothsome saccharinity called--obviously from its resistant
resiliency--an "All-Day Sucker." When he spoke again I knew in an
instant that a sure instinct had led him to make the proper disposition
of the succulent dainty--that it was stowed snugly away in a bulging
cheek like a squirrel's nut, to melt away in its own good time.

"'Tween the glare of the burnin' _Killarney_," Melton went on after
thrashing his hands across his shoulders for a minute to warm them up,
"the gleam o' the Hun cru'ser's searchlight an' the flash o' our own