“If I chose that they should keep watch and watch,” Aggett cried, perceiving that Hartington was amused, “it’s none o’ your business. This goes to the Commander.” And he went out of the cabin, purposely leaving the curtain undrawn.
Hartington rose and drew it quietly. He undressed, curled himself up in his wicker chair, and began to read the marble-covered notebook.
The Commander heard nothing officially of John’s behaviour. Ordith’s advice was sought.
“My dear Aggett.” Ordith said, when the situation had been explained to him, “you will forgive my saying that you have made an ass of yourself.”
“I asked you what I should do.”
“You seem to be somewhat disarmed. Why not stop his shore leave?”
“Then he’ll sit on board and write more drivel. Besides, the punishment is inadequate.”
Ordith spread out his hands. “It is all you have left.”
So the leave which John might have had when the ship reached harbour was stopped indefinitely. Ordith promised himself that he would make a pretty story of the occasion of the stoppage when next he met Margaret. It would be good to make Lynwood and his poetry appear ridiculous.
Then, partly in generosity, and partly with a desire to irritate Aggett, Ordith said one day to John: