"What time will you be called in the morning, sir?"
"What time?" answered the Major's voice, when he had finished the tune. "What time? Let's see. I say, Ray," he inquired through the wall, "this padre-fellow's got a service or something in the morning—what?"
"Yes, sir," shouted I.
"Some unearthly hour, seven or what?"
"Seven-thirty, sir."
"Ah yes," said the Major's voice, soft again, to the steward, "call me six-thirty."
"Yes, sir. Will you have shaving water then, sir?"
"Shaving water—what? Yes, surely." And the Major shouted through the wall: "We shave, don't we, Ray?"
"Well, yes, sir," agreed I.
"Of course," continued the Major, reproachfully, to the steward. "Bring shaving water. And there'll be the most deplorable row if it's not hot."