“Yes,” said Driss eagerly, “so they might; but not in that way. I swear he treated me as—as, an ordinary human being in a country house might treat another ordinary human being who was short of a pair of pyjamas. None of the being-generous-to-junior-snotties touch. You wouldn’t have thought there was such a thing as seniority. I believe he must come from the South of Ireland—though I’ve never heard the name there,” he added solemnly.
“That sounds promising,” Hugh said. “I wonder.... Oh, wouldn’t it be great, Driss, if Hartington were like that all through!”
“I believe he will be,” Driss answered. “I’m almost sure he will be. He didn’t even give me the pyjamas and have done with it. We talked for quite a long time—about where we should put his photographs, and pictures, and writing-desk—he has an old writing-desk that he’s very keen on, and an odd taste in pictures. And we talked about other things as well, all off the ordinary track, just as if there wasn’t any Service at all.”
But even then they could not believe that nothing aggressive lay beneath this apparently pleasing exterior. Driss, who had seen and heard, found it impossible to carry conviction in face of the others’ deep-rooted scepticism. The next day routine was irregular. Hartington went ashore soon after breakfast and did not return until the dog watches, when he took over the duties of the officer who had been keeping the Day On with John as his midshipman.
“Have you been keeping watch all day?” Hartington asked.
“Yes, sir, on and off. I’ve been below a good deal when there was nothing doing on deck.”
“Tired?”
“No, not very; I’d much rather keep Days On than the regular four-hour watches.”
“Is anyone coming up to take over from you?”
“I don’t think so.”