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Updated: May 17, 2025
Whistler gave Torrance the glass and went aft himself to relieve Ikey at the helm. "You're a fine garby," called Donahue to Rosenmeyer. "Lose your head mighty easy. That chaser isn't chasing us." "How do you know she isn't?" returned Ikey. "She certainly is following us," Whistler said. "But until she bespeaks our attention with her forward gun I guess we need not worry," and he smiled grimly.
"It's what I heard," whispered the older man, still trembling. "Oi, oi!" exclaimed Ikey Rosenmeyer suddenly. "Was it a clock ticking?" "That's it! That's what it sounded like. But there's no clock there," the boatswain's mate said. "I couldn't find anything. It's all about you in the air! I tell you it's a ghost, a ghost-clock.
MacMasters will let us shell the Hun?" demanded Frenchy eagerly. "She'll more likely shell us," declared Torry, inclined to be pessimistic. "I bet we can run away from her," cried Ikey Rosenmeyer. "Say! this tender is no sub chaser. In a race with the S. P. 888, for instance, she wouldn't have a chance."
"Hi, fellows!" called Torry, having stopped the car. "Going to stand there gassing all day?" The three figures in seaman's dress broke away from their admiring friends and approached the automobile. Frenchy Donahue was a little fellow with pink cheeks, bright eyes, and an Irish smile. Ikey Rosenmeyer was a shrewd looking lad who always had a fund of natural fun on tap.
"Say!" put in Ikey Rosenmeyer hotly, "you fellows won't get no advance in rating at all, and you may get blown up any time. We've got something to work for, we have!" "We've got money to work for," declared one of the munition workers. "Oi, oi!" sneered Ikey. "What's money yet?" A sneer which vastly amused his chums, for Ikey's inborn love for the root of all evil was well known.
"The poor square-heads!" muttered one fellow near Frenchy and Ikey Rosenmeyer. "They couldn't help it, I s'pose. They say they are driven into the subs. Aren't no volunteers called for." "Where's that other sub?" demanded another. "Has she sunk, too?" Frenchy and Ikey began to grin again. One of the boatswains said: "I bet that warn't no submarine ship at all. She's a joke. There!
Alonzo Minnette. The four friends, Morgan, Torrance, Donahue, and Ikey Rosenmeyer, the son of the proprietor of the village delicatessen store, had been given a furlough since landing at Norfolk with the captured raider, of the prize crew of which they had been members.
They were studying gunnery, and hoped to get into the gun crew of the Kennebunk for practice if they were fortunate enough to cruise on that ship. Just at present Frenchy and Ikey Rosenmeyer were more engaged in getting all the fun possible out of existence. The thing that delighted the latter most was the way in which his father treated him. Mr.
Rosenmeyer had been a stern parent, and had opposed Ikey's desire to enlist in the Navy. He always declared he needed the boy to help in the store and to take out orders. Ikey had got so that he fairly hated the store and its stock in trade. Pigs feet and sauerkraut and dill pickles were the bane of his life. Now that he was at home on leave, Mr.
"Good-night! We'd make a nice fumble, wouldn't we, if we didn't wear the uniform? What would it be a month in the brig on hard tack and water?" "Say!" murmured the eager Ikey Rosenmeyer, "there's a side door. I'll call Abe, the waiter, out there and tell him. If those fellows have gone into one of the booths " "Bully!" cried Torry. "Maybe he can sneak us into one next to 'em.
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