Dave Darrin on Mediterranean Service | Page 8

executive officer:
"Sir, are we privileged to ask our port of destination?"
This is a question often put to the executive officer of a war vessel, for ninety-nine times out of a hundred he knows the answer. He may smile and reply:
"I do not know."
Sometimes the executive officer, who is the captain's confidential man, has good reasons for not divulging the destination of the ship. In that case his denial of knowledge is understood to be only a courteous statement that he does not deem it discreet to name the port of destination.
But in this instance Commander Dawson smiled and replied:
"I will not make any secret of our destination so far as I know it. We are bound for some port on the Riviera. It may be Nice, or perhaps Monte Carlo. I am informed that the admiral has not yet decided definitely. I shall be quite ready to tell you, Mr. Metson, as soon as I know."
"Thank you, sir," courteously acknowledged the lieutenant commander.
During this interval the buzz of conversation had died down. It soon began again.
"The Riviera!" exclaimed Ensign Dalzell jubilantly, though in a low tone intended mainly for his chum's ear. "I have always wanted to see that busy little strip of beach."
The Riviera, as will be seen by reference to a map of Southern Europe, is a narrow strip of land, between the mountains and the sea, running around the Gulf of Genoa. One of the most important watering places on this long strip of beach is Nice, on French soil, where multitudes of health and pleasure seekers flock annually. The mild, nearly tropical climate of this place in winter makes Nice one of the most attractive resorts along the Riviera. Only a few miles distant from Nice is the principality of Monte Carlo, an independent state under a prince who is absolute ruler of his tiny country. Monaco is but two and a quarter miles long, while its width varies from a hundred and sixty-five yards to eleven hundred yards. Yet this "toy country" is large enough to contain three towns of fair size. The most noted town, Monte Carlo, stands mainly on a cliff, and is the location of the most notorious gambling resort in the world, the "Casino."
"I wonder," suggested one of the younger officers, in a rumbling voice, "if our Government feels that we officers have more money than we need, and so is sending us to a place where we can get rid of it by gambling. What do you say, Darrin?"
"Monte Carlo is one of the noted spots of the world," Dave responded slowly, "and I shall be glad to see a place of which I have heard and read so much. But I shall not gamble at Monte Carlo. I can make better use of my money and of my character."
"Bravo!" agreed Totten.
"How long is that strip of beach, the Riviera?" asked one officer of Lieutenant Commander Wales, the navigating officer.
"From Nice to Genoa, which is what is commonly understood as the real Riviera," replied the navigating officer; "the distance is one hundred and sixteen miles. But, beyond Genoa, on the other side, the beach continues for fifty-six miles to Spezia. On the strip from Genoa to Spezia the shore is so rocky that it has been found necessary to construct eighty-odd tunnels through the headlands for the railway that runs the whole length of the Riviera."
Most of the talk, during that breakfast hour, was about the Riviera, and much of that had to do with Monte Carlo.
"For years I've wanted very particularly to see that town of Monte Carlo," Danny Grin confessed.
"Not to gamble, I hope," replied Dave.
"Millions for sight-seeing, but not a cent for gambling," Dalzell paraphrased lightly.
"Gentlemen," warned Mr. Wales, "don't be too certain that you'll see Monte Carlo on this cruise. Often the weather is too rough for a landing in that vicinity."
"And in that case?" queried Lieutenant Totten.
"In that case," replied Wales, "the usual rule is for the ship to go on to anchorage in the harbor at Genoa."
"Any one know whether the barometer is talking about a storm?" Dalzell asked.
"That's a foolish question," remarked Lieutenant Barnes grouchily.
"Hello!" said Danny Grin, turning half around and eyeing the last speaker. "You here?"
"As usual," nodded Barnes gruffly.
"What was that you said about a foolish question?" demanded Dan.
"I was referring to your habit of asking foolish questions," retorted Barnes.
"Do I ask any more of them than you do?" Dalzell retorted, a bit gruffly.
"You do," Barnes declared, "and that's one of them."
"If I thought I asked more foolish questions than you do, sir," Dan rejoined, laying down his coffee cup, "I'd--"
Here Dalzell paused.
"What would you do?" Barnes insisted.
"On second thought," Dan went on gravely, "I don't believe I'll tell you. It was something desperate that I was thinking of."
"Then drop