"Yes; same as the Mormons, ain't it? Is that what you are?"
"No, it ain't--an' I'm a Unitarian, same as you are."
"I'm not--I'm a Baptist, same as my father was; but I don't believe in it."
"Well, if you believe in one God, that's what you are."
"But I'm telling you, I _don't_. Look here, now. I don't believe there's anything happens at all that wasn't all arranged first, and I know that nothing can alter it."
"Well, 'oo laid it all down first go off, then?" said the Torpedoman.
"Ah! I don't know and you don't know; but I tell you it wasn't God."
"Well, 'e's a bigger man than me then, an' I takes me 'at off to 'im, 'ooever it is. I tell yer, yer talkin' through yer neck. You say if you're going to be shot, there's a bullet about somewhere in some one's pouch with yer name writ on it. Ain't that it? Well, 'oo the 'ell put yer name on it, then?"
"It doesn't matter to me so long's it's there, does it?"
"Well, if that was so, I'd like to know 'oo 'e was, so's I could pass 'im the word not to 'ave the point filed off of it for me, anyway."
"Well, you couldn't--and he couldn't alter it for you if he was there, either."
The Torpedoman moved along the bench and twisted his head round till his ear was against one of the voice-pipes. The others sat silent and watched him with lazy interest.
"We're takin' a dip," he said. "Thought I 'eard 'im say, 'Sixty feet.'" The faint rolling motion that had been noticeable before died away, and the boat seemed to have become even more peaceful and silent. The Leading Stoker leaned back against the hull and rested his head against the steel. From the starboard hand there came a faint murmur, which grew till the regular threshing beat of a propeller could be distinguished. The sound swelled till they could hear in its midst a separate piping, squeaking note. The ship passed on overhead, and the threshing sound passed with her and faded until again the steady purr of motors remained the only reminder of the fact that the boat was diving. They felt her tilt up a little by the bow as she climbed back to regain her patrol depth.
"That's a tramp," said the Torpedoman; "nootral, I reckon."
"Squeaky bearing, too," said the Artificer judicially. "Don't suppose he's looked at his thrust since he left port. What's the skipper want to go under her for?"