“Don’t stand about in this deluge,” Cunwell put in. “The messman will keep shaving soap. Most messmen do. You can get it in the ship if you want it.”
They left the chemist unvisited, and pressed on to the head of the landing-steps. Here they wrapped their mackintoshes round them and sat down on the wet lids of their chests. Someone began to drum his heels against the painted wood.
“If you kick off all the paint,” said Cunwell promptly, “you’ll be in the soup at Captain’s inspection.”
The heels stopped, and silence fell. Presently their luggage was brought on a barrow chartered by Mr. Binney. The sea was splashing and hissing on the stone steps. In a little time, out of the mist of rain, the bows and funnel of a picket-boat became visible.
“That’s our boat,” said Cunwell at once. “She has a sailing pinnace in tow—that’s for our chests.”
A bell rang clearly four times; the engines slowed. It rang once, and the throb of machinery ceased; the tow-rope slackened.
“Cast off the pinnace! Take the pinnace inside, coxswain. I’ll come outside you.”
“Aye, aye, sir!... Get them fenders out, Micky.”
The picket-boat’s engines roared astern as the midshipman brought her bows round in readiness to come alongside the pinnace. In a couple of minutes both boats were in position.
“Are you the snotties for the King Arthur?”