“Don’t you ever say ‘Sir’ in speaking to a superior officer?” asked Coffee sharply.
“Not often; in fact, come to think of it, I don’t know that I ever do. Most officers I talk with don’t seem to care much whether I do or not.”
Coffee returned to ground on which he felt more comfortable.
“You have shown,” he said, “a degree of ignorance which would shame a third-class electrician; in a warrant officer it is appalling; you deserve to be demoted. Go to your room and study your Blue-Jacket’s Manual till you know the things every seaman should know; and don’t let me catch you again giving such answers as you’ve given to-night. That will do.”
As Evans retired, he muttered to himself: “What a jolly chap to have about the ship. Well, I trust he’s through jawing at me for the present.”
The next morning Evans, having with the aid of his trusty slide-rule arrived at a decision as to the method of correcting the remaining weak points in his new receiving device, was making his way to the radio room to apply the results of his calculations. On deck he met Commander Elkins.
“Well, Evans,” said he, “what was the matter yesterday? I never knew you to worry about written authority when it came to tinkering with apparatus.”
“I guess I must have had a fit of conscience,” answered Evans absently.
“Conscience! What made you want to break out a conscience?”
“I just wanted to be sure I wasn’t getting insubordinate.”