Little Grey Ships/Ten Per Cent

the trawler's snug cabin the supper-time talk had turned to woman as a substitute for man in the nation's hour of need.

The skipper, who weighed nineteen stones, and who had lately wedded for the third time, allowed that a woman might even be made into a policeman of sorts. “But,” he added ponderously, “never a seaman.”

“Hasn't the strength, ye mean?” the mate remarked in a voice impeded by toast.

“Nor the brains,” said the engineer.

“Not so sure 'bout the brains.” The mate, as if to prepare for an argument, swallowed hurriedly. He was not married, but there was a girl...

The engineer smiled wearily and said: “After you wi' the sugar.”

“Henry,” the skipper slowly and solemnly declared,“is right. You, Teddy, are too full o' what they call sentiments. Now, listen! By a strange co-in-side-ence I read all about it in a paper last night. Respectable paper, too; nothin' funny about it; sent to me in mistake. It said 'twas a Gospel truth—leastways, a fact—that a man's brains was ten times heavier 'n a woman's.”

The silence which followed this remarkable statement was broken by the entrance of the elderly cook bearing a large relay of fish which had been drawn from the depths of the North Sea not four hours earlier.

“'Scuse me for overhearin' ye, Captain,” he said in his best manner, “but I happened to see that paper, an' what it said was not ten times, but only ten per cent.” Smiling benevolently he withdrew.

“An' what's ten per cent.?” the mate exclaimed with a scornful laugh.

The skipper winced, scratched his plump brown neck, and looked for help to the engineer.

“Ten per cent.,” the latter pleasantly replied, “is merely—all the difference in the world!”

The skipper brightened. “Just so! That's really what I meant by my little anecdote.” He smiled upon the sulky mate. “Listen! One pound itself is not a terrible large sum o' money; but s'posin' ye had ten pound, Teddy, an' I borrowed one—ye'd miss that pound, wouldn't ye?”

“To me dyin' day! But I don't see”

The engineer interposed. “S'posin' this old boat had ten per cent. less speed, would she be as fit for her job?”

Teddy grunted impatiently. “Ye both talk as if a o' a lot o' brains was needed to make a seaman, whereas, from what I've seen on this here ship”

“Here, my lad,” the skipper smartly commanded, “keep yer sauce for yer fish! There's more brains needed on the sea than—Hullo, what's that?”

A commotion had sprung up on deck—a rush of heavily-booted feet, shouts, a blast on the foghorn.

Considering his bulk the skipper's exit from the cabin was a marvel of speed. As he reached the ladder a hoarse voice bawled down:

“—starb'd beam.”

Up in the little wheel-house the skipper took the wheel from the young steersman, and brought the trawler round. He swept the surrounding ocean with narrowed, anxious eyes. Dusk was intensifying the bleakness and vacancy of that white-flecked heaving desert. Nothing to be seen—nothing save, less than half a mile astern, that stealthily moving, sinister shaft with its lurking, all-seeing eye. He spoke into the tube.

“Give her all ye can, Henry.... What? Ay, I'll let ye know if we spot anything comin'. Teddy's aloft on the look-out.” He replaced the whistle. “But surely to God she won't go for a peaceful trawler!” To the young seaman, who was pale under his tan, “Get yer life-belt, lad, an' keep yer hair on,” he said kindly. Already, on his way to the bridge, he had given orders for the safety of his crew. Most of them had donned life-belts and some were busy at the two small boats.

The submarine was still astern, but no longer submerged. Yet, though her conning-tower showed above the surge, no signal came from her. She began to move faster—much faster.

Black smoke rolled from the trawler's slim funnel. She was doing her level best now. Within ten minutes, however, the U-boat was once more on her flank and horribly near. Still no signal.

“If we only had a gun!” muttered the skipper, wrenching at the wheel. He would have been the last to deny that he was afraid.

From the mate clinging to the mast came a yell. He pointed down at the water.

Afterwards several of the crew declared that they had seen the bubbling track. The mate swears that, from his perch, he actually beheld the deathly silvery shape itself dart past, not four fathoms from the turning trawler's port bow.

“Missed!” he roared, and came slithering to the deck.

A queer cry rose from the men and was immediately hushed. Eyes turned up to the wheel-house.

There the skipper, his ghastly face working with savage fury, was again wrenching at the wheel.

“Holy!” whispered a man, “he's goin' to ram!” and another feebly croaked “Hooray!”

But it was not to be. Already the submarine was diving. Presently she had disappeared, periscope and all.

Later on the engineer remarked rather pointedly to the mate brooding in his bunk:

“Wi' ten per cent. less quickness in turnin', we'd none o' us be here. So now ye maybe understand what I meant by callin' it all the difference in the world. An' 'tis just the same wi' brains.”

“All right,” said Teddy absently. He may have been thinking then of a girl, but certainly not of her brains.