“Gunner,” said Coffee with great dignity, “you are not taking your duties in the right spirit. You excuse yourself from observing the amenities on board ship on account of a wiring job. You must understand that discipline and morale are more important than apparatus.
“Now I want to see if you are up to standard in the matter of those things we expect all of you to know. I’ll just ask you a few questions. Can you tell me what is meant by the cadence?”
“The cadence?” answered Evans. “The only kind of cadence I know of is the concluding phrase in a piece of music.”
“Music!” echoed Coffee. “You’ll have to face more music than you like if you don’t look out. The cadence is something which every second-class seaman is supposed to know, as you will see if you consult your Blue-Jacket’s Manual,” and he held up a copy of this book to give emphasis to his words. He then tried one or two more questions about infantry maneuvers, unearthing in Evans a woeful degree of ignorance, which in no wise eased the outraged state of his mind. Finally he summoned a messenger and sent him for a rifle. When it was brought he handed it to Evans and said:
“Now let me see you demonstrate the maneuvers in the Manual of Arms as you would to a raw recruit.”
Evans took the rifle and examined the mechanism of the breech for a moment, then looked up at Coffee and said:
“Really, it’s no use my trying to do that. It’s so long since I had anything to do with that sort of thing that I’ve forgotten the whole of it.”
With these words he handed the gun back to Coffee, who received it with a gesture of contempt and said:
“And you a gunner! How, in Heaven’s name, did you ever get your rating?”
“Perhaps you’d get that best from the officers that enrolled me,” answered Evans mildly.