His Clerk placed a book upon the desk open at a list of names. The
Captain ran down them with a pencil.
"Badges, all entitled? . . . Stop allotment—who does he allot to? Mother? . . . Restoration to first class for leave. . . . To be rated Leading Seaman—Jones. Jones? Oh, yes, I know: youngster in the quarter-deck division with a broken nose. The Commander spoke to me about him." The pencil slowly descended to the bottom of the page, ticking off each man's request as it was gone into and explained. He stopped at the last one. "'To see Captain about private affairs.' What's his trouble?"
"I don't know, sir. He put in his request to see you through the
Master-at-Arms. He didn't say what it was about."
The Captain closed the book. "All seamen, eh? No Marine request-men?"
"No, sir."
"Right. I'll see 'em at eleven." The Clerk gathered the papers together and departed. As he went out there was a tap at the door. The Captain frowned. The tap was repeated.
"Don't knock," he called out. "If you've got anything to report, come in and report it."
The Chief Yeoman of Signals entered with an embarrassed air. He was new to the ship, and, as everyone knows, all captains have their little peculiarities. Here he was up against one right away. He'd never had much luck.
"I don't want anyone to knock when they come into my cabin on duty.
I'm not a young woman in her boudoir."
"Aye, aye, sir," said the Chief Yeoman. "Signal log, sir."