Monty turned his head, and started to frown through the dug-out door at the still Ægean Sea.
"Yes," he said.
"Well, Rupert and I thought that we'd—that p'raps you'd look after these envelopes, in case—"
"Oh, damn!" said Monty. I had never heard him swear before, but I knew that in the word his big heart spoke. Doe still held our envelopes towards his averted face, and at last he took them silently.
"Thanks, awfully," said Doe.
"Thanks," said I.
"Oh, for Heaven's sake, shut up!" Monty grumbled, and started whistling unconsciously. Immediately in my mind the words "Dismiss me not thy service, Lord" framed themselves to the tune, and conjured up a vision of the smoking room of the Rangoon and its decks by starlight. Abruptly Monty broke off, and said, still frowning at the sea:
"Since those days you've been fairly loyal sons of the Church. Aren't you going to use her before to-morrow? To-night's a more literal Vigil than that voyage. Can't I—aren't you going to use me?"
It was the old Monty of the Rangoon speaking.
"We'd thought about it," answered Doe, reddening.