Eph and Williamson had slept through the evening, after supper, and were now to take the night watch tricks, the machinist’s deck watch beginning at once and lasting until four in the morning.

About an hour after daylight, Eph Somers deserted the deck, except for occasional intervals.  After a while the odor of coffee and steak was in the air.  Then, snatching up a bugle, Somers sounded the reveille tumultuously through the small cabin of the submarine torpedo boat.

Not long did the other members of the crew take to turn out and dress.  They came out into the cabin to find Eph trotting between table and galley, putting things on the table.

“This seems like old times,” chuckled Williamson, as he seated himself with the boys.

“Yes; because you don’t have to cook,” grimaced Eph.  “Wait until after breakfast, when you have to clear away and wash dishes!”

“Even so, I have the best of it,” laughed the machinist, good-humoredly.  “I have something in my stomach to work on.”

“I always do get the tough end of any job, don’t I?” grumbled Eph, resignedly, then buried his troubles under a plateful of steak and fried potatoes.

“You hoisted the signal, ‘N.D.’, yesterday afternoon,” laughed Captain Jack, laying down his coffee cup.  “If you don’t watch out, Eph, I’ll hoist the ‘N.G.’ flag over this table.”

“Breakfast no good?” demanded Eph, looking much offended.

“No; ‘N.G.’ will stand for ‘no grouch.’”

Somers joined heartily in the laugh that followed.

Just as they were finishing a really good meal, for which every breakfaster had a royal, salt-water appetite, a steamer’s whistle was heard, not far off to port.

“I’ll bet that’s the Army tug!” muttered Captain Jack, rising hastily from the table.  “Tell you what, fellows, we’ve got to begin to have something like Navy discipline aboard this craft.  In that case, we’d have had breakfast over an hour ago.”

Jack was off up the steps as though pursued.  Eph went after him as soon as that youth with the sun-kissed hair had time to pull on his visored cap and button his blouse.  No matter what the need of haste, Somers never appeared on deck looking less natty than a veteran naval officer.

Forward, on the tug, stood a major of engineers, a young lieutenant beside him.

“Good morning, Mr. Benson,” hailed Major Woodruff.  “We’re going to try to come in close enough to put a gang-plank over.  Can you take a bow line from us?”

“Yes, sir,” Captain Jack saluted the Army officer, and Eph hurried to receive the line.

In less than two minutes Major Woodruff and Lieutenant Kline were on the platform deck of the “Spitfire.”

“This is the first one of your craft we’ve seen,” declared the major, as Eph cast off the bow line, and the tug backed water.  “Will you show us over?”

This the submarine boys gladly did, as the Army shares with the Navy in the defense of the country.