ON THE THAMES
early in June and one breezy morning the patrol boat went dashing off to the south, quite hopefully, in obedience to orders. But the rumored sub didn't materialize and they ran into a heavy sea and broke a propeller shaft and had to wallow into New London for repairs. It was a three-day job to install a new shaft and Nelson and Billy Masters went sight-seeing on various occasions and found quite a lot to interest them. Some four hundred reserves from the Newport station had recently been dumped down on a New London pier and were using it as barracks, and they discovered several acquaintances amongst them and had a rather good time. They attended a dance at the hotel one evening—although Nelson didn't dance, went over a mine layer, shopped along State street and visited the submarine base up at the old Navy Yard.
The latter excursion happened in an odd way. Nelson and Billy were admiring some perfectly gorgeous strawberry-pink and nile-green shirts in a haberdasher's window one afternoon when they heard someone say:
"I'll buy you a dozen of those if you'll put them on." The speaker was a chap in sailor's togs whose cap ribbon bore the legend "U. S. Submarine Base." He was a good looking fellow,
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