“Damn their shirts!” Krame answered. “They can buy new ones, can’t they? They ought to be rich enough. They don’t spend their money on anything, so far as I can see—no women, no card bill, no extra extras, no wine bill to speak of.... But I’m with you, Howdray. We won’t waste crême de menthe on them.”
“It might go down to themselves,” Banford-Smith kindly suggested.
“Lot of good that would be,” Howdray grumbled, “seeing that we have their wine bills.”
“Water be it,” said Krame. “The jug’s on the slab, Elstone. Howdray, the biscuits are in my locker, just above your head.”
From his place in the line John watched Howdray climb on to the settee and fetch the material for the christening. Krame and Elstone sat at the end of the table, Elstone next the pantry hatch and Krame nearer the ship’s side. On Krame’s left was Howdray, now sliding back into his place and arranging the huge ship’s biscuits on the table in front of him. Further for’ard, sprawling on the settee, and engaged in a competition of blowing smoke-rings at their liqueur glasses, were Tintern and Banford-Smith, who seemed less interested than the others in the business of the evening. Elstone regarded it, perhaps thoughtlessly, as a tremendous joke; Howdray was frankly a bully of the old fashion, great in bulk but not in strength, good-humoured on occasions, happy-go-lucky, for ever at war with authority, a creature of vast appetites and weak control. Only Krame seemed to derive genuine pleasure from the proceedings. He possessed a quick, almost brilliant mind. He was handsome, popular in polite shore-going circles, an efficient officer, admired, on account of his easy manner and soft, smiling lips, by women and by men whose acquaintance with him was but superficial. He enjoyed Gunroom Evolutions. He used to tell his dance partners about them. It pleased him to play the autocrat in Oriental style, to see human beings—no matter at what cost in pain to themselves—subjected to his will. Even as John watched him, he called the junior midshipmen to attention and stood them at ease again half a dozen times in quick succession, not because by doing so he served any purpose, but because he liked to hear his own voice giving orders. He smiled complacently to see them spring to attention at his behest. He pretended that they had not moved smartly enough, and turned down the corners of his mouth in an absurd grimace of disapproval.
Over the table the electric lights beneath their yellow shades swung with the slow motion of the ship. The air was swirling and blue with tobacco smoke that clung in long wreaths to the nap of the red and black tablecloth. The temperature was high, and the atmosphere foul with the odour of food, for a threatening sea had caused the scuttles to be shut, and no one had troubled to open them again.
Krame left his place and seated himself regally on a chair between the table and the door. On his right stood Elstone with a jug of water, on his left Howdray, clutching an armful of ship’s biscuits.
“Now, first Wart forward. At the run!”
Sentley, who was on the right of the line, hurried from his place and stood at attention before Krame.
“On the knee!... ’Shun!... On the knee!” The spectators roared to see Sentley clambering from one position to the other. Howdray picked up a thick cane from the sideboard and hit Sentley as he knelt.