"You Jackies haven't anything on us. We don't know but any moment we may
be blown sky-high."

"True for you," put in Frenchy smartly. "But you don't get any fun out
of your danger. We do. And we get promotion and steadily increased pay
and a chance to get up in the world."

"Sure!" broke in Al. "Some day we're all going to win gold stripes;
aren't we, fellows?"

His chums declared he was right. But one listener said doubtfully:

"You won't ever win commissions if you get sunk or blown up, on one of
those blamed old iron pots."

"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.

As the group stood talking, along came a man, walking briskly from the
direction the Seacove boys had come in their automobile. Two or three of
the munition workers spoke to the man, who was broad-shouldered, walked
with a brisk military step, and was heavily bewhiskered.