“The warship would have been sunk,” Darrin answered.

“Huerta’s bird men might be able to give us a surprise like that,” Trent suggested.  “That may prove to be one of the new problems that we shall have to work out.”

“Oh, I’ve worked that out already,” yawned Danny Grin.  “All we have to do is to equip our funnels with heavy iron caps that will not interfere with the draft of the furnaces, but will keep any oranges—–­bombs, I mean—–­from dropping down the funnels.”

“All right then,” added Lieutenant Trent.  “We will consider Dalzell has solved the problem of keeping bombs out of our funnels.  What is Dalzell going to do about contact bombs that might be dropped on deck or superstructure of a battleship?”

“All I can see for that,” grinned Dan, “is to call loudly for the police.”

“One biplane might succeed in sinking all the warships gathered at Vera Cruz,” Trent continued.

“Was that the thought that made you look so happy when you came in here?” Dan asked, reproachfully.  “The thought that you could scare two poor little ensigns so badly that they wouldn’t be able to sleep to-night?”

“That was far from my plan,” laughed Trent.  “What I am really happy about is that, the way affairs are shaping, we shall soon be studying real war problems instead of theoretical ones.”

“The question of uniform is bothering me more,” Dave responded.  “Do you realize, Trent, that we have only blue uniforms and white ones on board?  If we land, to capture Vera Cruz, are our men to be tortured in heavy, hot, blue uniforms here in the tropics?  Or are we to wear these white clothes and make ourselves the most perfect marks for the enemy’s sharpshooters?”

“You should have more confidence in the men forward,” half jeered the lieutenant.  “Our jackies are taking care of that problem already.  They are soaking nails and scrap iron in water, and dyeing their white uniforms yellow with iron rust.”

“Say, that is an idea!” exclaimed Dan, sitting bolt upright.  “I’m going to do that very thing to-night.  I have one white uniform that isn’t in very good shape.”

“I suppose you fellows have heard the word?” inquired Lieutenant Holton, looking in.

“Not war?” asked Trent.

“No,” uttered Holton, disgustedly.  “Worse than that.  Shore leave has been stopped for officers and men alike.  And I was counting on a pleasant evening ashore to-night!”

“It won’t bother me any,” Dave announced.  “I’d rather stay on board and sleep against the stirring times, when we won’t be able to get sleep enough.”

“What’s the idea, anyway, in stopping shore leave?” asked Trent.  “Is the admiral afraid that we’ll start a row on shore?”

“I don’t know,” sighed Lieutenant Holton.  “I only wish that I had got ashore before the order was handed out.”

At that very moment Lieutenant Cantor, who had returned to ship, and had just heard the order, was standing before Captain Gales in the latter’s office.