“I suppose all of you do feel excited,” nodded Ensign McGrath, understandingly.

“Not excited,” declared Jack.  “I’m just simply unprepared to believe that any part of this has really happened.”

At the railway station they were met by a messenger from the chief clerk’s office, who handed each of the submarine boys a small parcel.

“Copy of the Regulations, sir” stated the messenger.  “It is required that each officer of the Navy possess a copy.”

“You’ll want to scan the book good and hard most of the way down to Norfolk,” advised Ensign McGrath.  “You’ll find much between the covers that you’ll need to know right at the first jump-off.  And now, for the tickets.”

These McGrath bought, including parlor car seats.  The ensign then saw them safely to their seats.

“Now, you’ve got enough to do, reading your new books,” laughed the ensign, “So I’m not going to waste your time by staying here to talk to you.  It’s ten minutes, yet, to the time of your departure.  Good-bye, gentlemen—­and good luck!”

When McGrath had gone Jack leaned across the aisle to whisper: 

“Eph, can you get at your sword handily—­to draw it, I mean?”

“What’s up?” said Eph, suspiciously.

“I want you to stick about a sixteenth of an inch of the point of your sword into me, so I can judge how long I’ve been dreaming.”

“What’s the matter with using your own sword?” demanded Eph, a trifle gruffly.

“That’s just the trouble,” smiled Benson, plaintively.  “I’m afraid I’ll wake up and find I haven’t any.”

Hal was leaning back in his parlor car chair, his eyes closed.  He was dreaming delicious daydreams.

CHAPTER XIII

COMMANDER OF A U.S.  GUNBOAT!

“Lieutenant Benson, sir?” inquired a coxswain, saluting.

“Yes,” replied Jack, returning the salute.

“The gig is waiting to take you to the ‘Sudbury’ sir.”

This information was punctuated by another salute which Jack, as head of the party of three young officers, again returned.

“Lead the way,” directed Jack.

For the third time saluting, the coxswain possessed himself of Jack’s suit case and sword, then crossed the wharf to the landing stairs down below, the gunboat’s cutter waited, a natty little craft, occupied by a bowman and four oarsmen.

The three young officers seated themselves at the stern of the gig.

“Cast off,” directed the coxswain.  “Up oars!  Let fall!  Give way!”

With the long, steady, magnificent sweep of the Navy which the sailors pulled, the little gig seemed to race through the water.

“Is that the ’Sudbury’?” inquired Jack, nodding toward a trim little gunboat some two hundred feet long.

“Yes, sir.”

All three of the submarine boys gazed at the gunboat with secret enthusiasm.  Had it not been for the guns fore and aft, and at the rail on either side, the “Sudbury” might have been mistaken for some multi-millionaire’s yacht.