“Thank you. Very kind of you,” said Bush. But it was utterly beyond possibility that he could give the least hint of the feeling that the gift evoked in him, that after lying lonely for these days in the hospital he should find that someone cared about him—that in any case someone should give him so much as a thought. The words he spoke were limping and quite inadequate, and only a sensitive and sympathetic mind could guess at the feelings which the words concealed rather than expressed. But he was saved from further embarrassment by Hornblower abruptly introducing a new subject.
“The admiral’s taking the Gaditana into the navy,” he announced.
“Is he, by George!”
“Yes. Eighteen guns—sixpounders and nines. She’ll rate as a sloop of war.”
“So he’ll have to promote a commander for her.”
“Yes.”
“By George!” said Bush again.
Some lucky lieutenant would get that important step. It might have been Buckland—it still might be, if no weight were given to the consideration that he had been captured asleep in bed.
“Lambert’s renaming her the Retribution,” said Hornblower.
“Not a bad name, either.”