Belson. And do you tell me that Mr. Maitland is going to marry this Japanese lady?
Simpson. Yes, sir. That’s why I wrote, sir. I didn’t want him to leave the Navy, sir.
Belson (grunts). And what about yourself?
Simpson. I don’t want to leave it neither, sir. I’ve got fifteen years’ service and I should like to earn a pension.
Belson. I should think you’re more likely to earn six months for desertion. Do you know that you are absent from the ship now?
Simpson (in agony). Not until to-night, sir, is it? I thought there’d be time——
Belson. I don’t want to know what you thought. Why didn’t you write before—when you knew what he meant to do?
Simpson. I ’oped against ’ope, sir.
Belson. You hoped! And what were you stopping for? Were you to marry a Japanese, too?
Simpson (putting out his hands). No, sir, no. I don’t hold with it, sir. But she’s a sweet little thing, sir, and I know she’s very fond of him. It makes me real bad to think what’ll happen when they see you, sir. I think he’ll half-kill me. (Turning away.) I wish we’d never come to Japan!