quired Barry, addressing the A. P.
He tried to ask the question in a natural tone of voice, but the
midshipmen were quick to perceive a deepening of the tan in the
Lieutenant-Commander's weather-beaten face.

"Had a letter only this morning," replied Jolly; "a fairly long one,
too. I suppose things have quieted down a bit after the rush. My
sister's a double one, you know," he added, turning to Ross and his
chum.

"A what?" asked Ross.

"She's my sister, and she's a nursing sister at a naval hospital,"
explained the A.P. "There's a very quaint little bit. I must read it
to you."

He produced an envelope from his pocket.

"'You remember Marjory May?'" he read. "'She's had her wish. She
joined here as a probationer, on the day after that terrible destroyer
affair. We had most of the cases. One of the patients was a stoker,
who had been knocked about by a shell exploding in a bunker (whatever
that is--it sounds like golf). Marjorie had her first task--to wash
him before the doctor could operate. I went to see how she was
progressing, and found the poor girl on the verge of tears. 'Oh,
sister!' she exclaimed; 'I've been scrubbing him for ten minutes, and I
can't get him clean!' It was rather dull in the ward, so I switched on
the light. Then I saw the cause of Marjory's distress. The poor
stoker was a half-caste."

"By Jove!" ejaculated the A.P. as a particularly savage gust laid the
ship well over. "It isn't half blowing!"

"Yes, my festive friend," agreed Barry; "it is! Fortunately you are
not due back to-night. If you were it wouldn't signify, for I wouldn't
order a boat away on a night like this. To-morrow, if it hasn't
moderated--and the worst is yet to come--we'll weigh and stand up the
Firth into smoother water."

There was a pause in the conversation. The din without was now
terrific. One of the worst of the winter gales was approaching its
climax--a furious nor'easter.

"Come in!" shouted Barry as a knock was heard at the cabin door.

"Wireless message, sir," announced one of the ship's boys.

"Very good," replied the Lieutenant-Commander. Then, after the
messenger had backed out, he started to his feet.

"I say, you fellows!" he exclaimed. "Here's a pretty kettle of fish:
'Flag to _Hunbilker_: Proceed to sea at once. Rendezvous Lat. 5 deg. E.,
Long. 57 deg. 30' N.' That means, whether you like it or whether you
don't, you're bound for the Baltic."

CHAPTER XXX

The