"Well," said the former, "let's move on, Uncle Bill. Would you like a rubber of bridge?"
"I can play bridge in London," replied his guest, rising. "No, Jim, I think I'd like to take this opportunity of paying a visit to the Gunroom. When you are my age you'll find a peculiar fascination about youth and its affairs. Do you think they'd object to my intrusion?"
"They'd be awfully bucked," said James. "Come along." As they passed out of the door they met the Marine postman entering with his arms full of letters and papers. "Hullo," he continued, "here's the mail—you'll see a Gunroom devouring its letters: rather like a visit to the Zoo about feeding-time!"
They came to the door of the Gunroom, and James, opening it, motioned his guest to enter. One end of the table resembled a bee swarm: a babel of voices sounded as those nearest the pile of letters shouted the names of the addressees and tossed the missives back over their heads.
The two men stood smiling and unobserved in the doorway until the distribution was complete. Then they were seen, and the Sub advanced to extend the hospitality of his realm.
"Kedgeree," said James, "this is my uncle. He's getting bored with the Wardroom and I've brought him along here." The Sub laughingly shook hands, and the inmates in his immediate vicinity gathered round with the polite air of a community of whom something startling was expected.
"Won't you sit down, sir?" asked one, drawing forward the battered wicker arm-chair. "It's all right as long as you don't lean back—but if you do we must prop it against the table." He suited the action to the words, and the guest sat down rather gingerly.
"Won't you have something to drink?" queried Kedgeree. "Whisky and soda or something?"
Sir William smilingly declined.
"Would you care to hear the gramophone?" queried the champion of that particular form of entertainment. "We've got some perfectly priceless George Robey ones—have you ever heard 'What there was, was Good?'" He moved towards the instrument.