"It will be necessary to refer to the Admiralty: they will require proper notice."
"You will get the rations within twenty-four hours, notice or no notice. But we will discuss that by-and-by. Meanwhile, hurry off to the ordnance branch."
Mr. Faulks went to the door, protesting and muttering to himself.
"Stay! one word more! It is wrong of me, perhaps, to hint that your zeal requires any stimulus, Mr. Faulks."
"Hardly, I hope. I have endeavoured for the last five-and-thirty years—"
"Yes, yes, we know all about that. But I have been told that you looked for some special recognition of your services—a decoration, the Order of the Bath—from the last Administration. Now, unless you bestir yourself, don't expect anything of the kind from us."
"I do not pretend to say that I have earned the favour of my Sovereign; but in any case it would depend upon her most gracious Majesty whether—"
"Don't make any mistake about it. You can only get the Bath through the recommendation of your immediate superiors. There's stimulus, if you want it. But don't let me detain you any more."
Mr. Faulks went slowly downstairs, and still more slowly resumed his out-of-door frock-coat; he took up his hat and stick in the same deliberate fashion, and started at a snail's pace for round the corner.
He drawled and dawdled through the business, which five minutes' sharp talk could have ended, and it was nearly lunch-time before he returned to his chief.