“Well, I shouldn’t let the senior snotties see it, if I were you. My brother told me that when he went to sea for the first time, one of the snotties who were with him had the marks of his stripes showing, and he got a dozen cuts once a week till they disappeared—just to teach him that Cadet Captains at Dartmouth have got to learn their place when they go to sea.”
Lynwood, who was well aware that Cunwell had been bitterly disappointed because he had never been made a Cadet Captain himself, knew what triumph lay beneath the friendly appearance of his warning. Cunwell delighted to impress upon him the indisputable fact that he had fallen from relatively high estate.
“Well, I expect you are glad now, Cunwell,” he said, “that you were never made a Cadet Captain? You won’t get beaten once a week—not for that reason, at any rate.”
“All right,” Cunwell exclaimed angrily, “you needn’t be sarcastic about nothing. I thought you would like to know; and then you lose your temper because I warn you. You are an extraordinary fellow! My brother——”
“Oh!” Fane-Herbert interrupted. “For four years and a half we’ve heard about your brother. You told me all about him the first night we were at Osborne.”
“You’re another of the Cadet Captains. Are the marks of your stripes showing?... At any rate, my brother is one of the best officers in the Service. The men love him.”
“I dare say.”
Sentley, as did all save Cunwell, resented this wrangling. To him it was as if prisoners insulted one another on their way to the scaffold. Moreover, youthfully conscious of his dignity as a naval officer, he felt that such disputes were not for the ears of Mr. Binney.
“It doesn’t really matter now,” he said mildly. And then, determined to be cheerful at all costs, he added: “Do you think we shall get leave at Christmas?” and Fane-Herbert echoed him: “It doesn’t really matter now.”