"Be so good as to give Commander Ardin my compliments, and say I don't pull a lanyard till I can see through her ports."
The other's formal politeness stirred the boy almost to laughter; yet somehow the faded splendour of the man touched him too.
It was as when a great light seeks to shine through smoked glass. Last night he had seen only the sodden body; now he beheld the soul, shining dimly, it is true, but shining still through its sullied habitation. The call to action had set it burning. It illuminated the blurred face, notable still. In his youth the man must have been extraordinarily handsome. Even now he was a noble ruin.
"Ah, you may stare, Mr. Caryll," said the Gunner, reading the other's thoughts. "It was Lushy Lanyon last night; this morning it's Me!"
He swelled his chest, and stalked down the deck between his guns, shooting his cuffs.
"Yes, sir. A fight's meat and drink to me. It pulls me together, and makes me remember who I am." He threw back his head—"Magnificent Arry, the man that's played more avock with earts in his day than any other seaman afloat…. It's the whiskers done it," he added simply.
The two men in him were at war: the high and mighty fighting-man and the confidential toper. Each came bobbing out in turns.
"And if you should want to see a main-deck fought as a main-deck should be fought, why, sir, be good enough to take a seat."
He kicked a powder-monkey off his box, and offered it with a bow.
"Can't," said Kit, turning. "No time. See you again later."