“Yes, you just wait!” Cunwell warned them. “I can tell you, Fane-Herbert, your smiles and your cricket won’t help you there; nor your English and x-chasing, Lynwood. That isn’t the kind of thing Commanders look for.”
Even Cunwell’s voice became less strident when at last they had left Mr. Binney with their luggage, and, under his directions, had gone into the street. Their best uniform, in which they were bound to report themselves on board, added to the discomfort caused by wind and rain. Soon their trousers were wet to the knee.
“I say,” said the careful Sentley, “do you think the Commander will mind our trousers being like this?”
“I can’t help the Commander’s troubles,” Fane-Herbert answered. “What makes me swear is that our cap badges will get spoilt.”
“What do our cap badges matter? You should see my brother’s cap, and he says——” Derisive applause checked him.
“Do you hear the water from the gutter roaring below that grating?” Lynwood said.... “Those must be the steps. Yes, I can see our chests standing there.”
Sentley stopped suddenly outside a Chemist’s shop. “I say, hold on a minute. I want some shaving soap.”
They turned to look at him. “Oh, Sentley, do you have to shave now?” and they laughed good-humouredly till the colour rose to his cheeks.
“I shall have to very soon—at any rate, for Sunday Divisions. Will you wait for me while I get it, Lynwood?”