"Which service, sir?" asked Jack swiftly, for though wounded, and more or less incapable, the old spirit was still there. There was, in fact, a cheeky grin of enquiry on his somewhat pallid features, a pallor made even more evident by the flickering flame of a torch burning near the trio.
"Eh?" asked Mr. Riley, taken aback. "Which service? The service, I said."
"Army?" grinned Jack exasperatingly.
"I'll hammer you, my lad, when once you're fit," laughed the naval officer. "As if anyone could misunderstand me! I say that the service has lost a budding Nelson—a Nelson, Jack; as good a man as ever trod a deck. Tom's a loss to the service, now isn't he?"
"Army; yes, sir," grinned Jack, rolling his eyes at the naval officer.
"Joking apart, though," said Mr. Riley, ignoring the fun of the ensign, "Tom'll be a loss in an office. Just imagine our friend perched on a high stool battling with facts and figures, when he's shown he's capable of battling with people. Tom, I call it a downright sin. If you were my brother I'd say 'Go hang' to the office."
"Hear, hear!" cried Jack. "If Tom'd just give it up for a time and come along with us, why, I'd——"
"You?" interrupted Mr. Riley, with a smile of incredulity; for though Jack was undoubtedly dashing and gallant enough, he lacked the stamina and serious thought of one who leads.
"I," repeated the incorrigible ensign, "I—with a capital to it, please—I'd make the dear boy a general before he knew what was happening."