DAN’S TURN TO GRIN
“Stop your nonsense, Danny-boy, if you’ll be so good. Of course you know
that I want to go with you. But can’t you tell me something about the
‘Prince’?”
“Not a word,” Dan protested.
“Or the kind of work in which your ship is going to engage?”
“Not a word!” Dan Dalzell laughed merrily. “Will you go?”
“Yes; of course, old chum.”
“I thought you would,” Dan continued, “so I took the liberty of
obtaining official permission for you to go along with me. Here it is,
over the admiral’s signature.”
Dave eagerly scanned the official-looking, typewritten sheet. It was
simply a written permission, and gave not the slightest clew to the
nature of Dan’s new venture.
“Dan Dalzell, I believe that you’re going to keep me on the guessing
rack,” Dave declared.
“You don’t believe anything of the sort,” Dalzell laughed; “you _know_
it.”
“All right, then,” sighed Darrin, good-humoredly, putting away the
official envelope in an inner pocket.
“Then you’re going with me?”
“Yes, sir, and right into the jaws of whatever mystery you have arranged
for me,” Dave said.
“Mighty glad of it,” cried Danny Grin, gripping his chum’s hand again.
“I don’t believe you’ll be sorry either. It’s a humorous adventure on
which you and I are going to embark.”
“If there’s any humor to be found in this great, grim war,” Dave
retorted, “then it will prove a most welcome relief from the kind of
work that has been holding our attention.”
Dave had already cleaned up all matters relating to the transfer of
command on the “Logan.” Hence there was nothing to hinder his departure
by train at daylight the morning following. For two hours the chums
rode, then alighted at a port town so small that its name is never heard
on this side of the water.
Within five minutes the two young naval officers, carrying their
worn-looking suit-cases, reached the water-front. Dan’s heavier baggage
had gone on ahead and Dave carried none beyond what his suit-case
contained.
The harbor was a small one. Dave had seen it all ere they reached one of
the three small wharves of which the water-front boasted.
“Humph!” he remarked. “So you must wait for your ship to come in?”
“I don’t believe so,” Dalzell returned.
“But there is no warship in this harbor,” Darrin remonstrated. Indeed,
the only craft above the size of small boats were a battered old tramp
steamer, a former trawler, now a patrol boat, a steam fishing-smack and
a schooner.
“All the shipping in this harbor combined wouldn’t make a proper command
for a lieutenant-commander in the United States Navy,” Dave observed.
“Dan, you’ve been grinning ever since you brought me the veiled news
yesterday. It is now about time to unmask and tell me what you’re up to
in the way of mischief.”
“That would be to open up the case of the watch and show you the whole
works,” Dan retorted, mockingly.
“Then I give it up,” sighed Dave.
In response to a mere hand signal a boat put off from under the quarter
of the battered tramp. As it neared the wharf Dave’s wonder grew.
“So that old tramp steamer is going to act as tender, and take you out
to your new ship?” Dave inquired, feeling as mystified as he looked.
“Have a care, Danny-boy. That tramp won’t keep afloat long enough in an
open sea to take you far!”
But Dalzell made no reply. Instead, he walked to the steps that led down
to a landing stage, returning the salute of the seaman in the stern of
the row-boat. Plainly the tramp could by no possibility be Dan’s “new”
ship, for not even a man in the boat-crew wore the uniform of the United
States. Though the men showed bright, intelligent faces, their garb was
of the most nondescript character worn by seafaring men.
Dan gravely led the way to seats in the stern.
“Shove off!” ordered the coxswain. Then the men gave way at the oars.
Dave watched their rowing. To an amateur eye the handling of the oars
wasn’t so bad, but it was utterly different from the rowing done by a
smart man-o’-wars crew. Dave felt the mystery deepening.
Nor did it grow lighter when the boat was driven in at a rickety side
gangway. For, looking up, Dave saw a frowsy-looking lot of heads of men
who were lounging at the rail and looking down at the water. The name of
this frowsy-looking craft, Darrin discovered, was the “Prince.”
Dave went aboard on what would have been called the quarter-deck on a
more pretentious craft. Dan led the way at once into the deckhouse and
into a passage-way.
And right here Dave received another jolt. Inside, a clean-cut looking
sailor lad, in new, handsome U. S. uniform, saluted smartly, at the same
time stepping forward to take both suit-cases.
“Take Mr. Darrin to his cabin,” Danny Grin directed, gravely. “Then
bring my bag to my quarters.”
In another moment Darrin had seen three more smart-looking jackies. He
was then ushered into his cabin, and his bag placed inside the doorway.
“Hm! This cabin doesn’t look as bad as one might expect,” Dave Darrin
murmured to himself. “But what can the game be? Danny-boy is certainly
carrying on this joke in a mighty mysterious fashion.”
Hanging up the sheepskin coat that he had carried on one arm, Darrin
next removed his long uniform overcoat and hung that up also. There came
a brisk knock at the door.
“Lieutenant-Commander Dalzell’s compliments, sir, and will you join him,
sir?” inquired the messenger at the door.
“Gladly,” assented Darrin, drawing aside the curtain that fell over the
doorway and stepping outside.
His conductor led him forward into a large cabin.
Just as he entered Dave’s puzzled glance fell upon several pairs of
boots standing in a row near the door. He gasped when he realized that
they were high, lace affairs, of a distinctly feminine pattern that were
in fashion on Broadway the last time he had seen that famous
thoroughfare.
And here, right in front of him, stood Dalzell, earning every letter in
his nick-name of Danny Grin.
“I didn’t know that you had ladies aboard, Danny,” Dave remarked,
halting and gazing at the shoes.
“Who said we had?”
“But those—” began Darrin, pointing at the footgear that had aroused his
wonder.
“Newest thing in service shoes,” laughed Dalzell.
“Have your own way about it,” Dave chuckled.
“It’s a fact, just the same,” Dan retorted. “And say! Are you thoroughly
discreet? Can you keep a Service secret?”
“I can hand you a wallop in about a half a second,” Dave Darrin
retorted.
“I am answered,” Dan replied, gravely. “Follow me.”
Just at that instant a girlish figure came through from the connecting
cabin. Dave couldn’t see her face, which was closely veiled. But from
that other cabin came a roar of laughter. Dave Darrin felt like pinching
himself to see if he were awake.
“Come on in,” chirped Dalzell. “The water’s fine to-day.”
Taking Dave by the arm he piloted his chum into that next cabin.
And now, indeed, Dave Darrin had reason enough to wonder if he were
awake.
For three long tables occupied a good part of the cabin. And on these
tables uniformed jackies, their faces all a-grin, were laying dresses,
women’s coats and hats as they took them from boxes.