“But,” he spluttered, “this is rank mutiny. I’ll put you ashore at the first port of call.”
“Where’s that?” I asked.
“Fremantle,” he replied.
“Well,” I retorted, “even if you do, I shan’t cry about it. I suppose I can take a train to Melbourne.”
“Then you suppose wrong,” he snapped. “There is no railway communication whatever between the two places.”
All this while the other officers had been standing respectfully at attention, waiting further instructions. The captain now sent them away, and closed the door.
“Take a seat, Mr. Carlton,” he said.
I sat down, wondering what was coming next.
“Have a drink?” he inquired, producing a decanter of whisky and a syphon of soda.
“Now you’re talking,” I said; and we both laughed.