With a rounding sweep the destroyer commanded by Dave Darrin turned out of the way of the troopship, then came up close, on the same course, scooting by.
"Good old Darry!" Prescott yelled through a megaphone that Greg thrust into his unoccupied hand.
For a wonder Dave heard, just as the destroyer darted in at her closest point to the transport.
For just an instant Darrin turned to wave his hand.

Then, between both hands, placed over his mouth, he shouted: "Hullo, Dick! 'Lo, Greg!" Dave waved his hand, then turned to give an order to his watch officer.

A brief greeting, but it meant a world to the three chums who had had a part in it.
"Now, if Danny Grin's craft would only come in that close!" sighed Greg happily.
But it didn't.

Once in a while Prescott and Holmes could make out the craft commanded by Dan Dalzell, but it didn't come in close enough for a hail.
Bang! sounded a destroyer's gun, far ahead.
Bang! came as if in answer from the bowgun of the leading transport.
"There are the Huns, and here is the scrap coming!" yelled a corporal perched up in the bow of the ship.
Bang! Bang! "Hurrah! Hurrah!" Cheers went up in such volume as to be deafening.
"Tell the men to stop that cheering," shouted Major Wells, in order to make Dick and Greg hear him.

"And tell them that no more men are to crowd the rail on either side.