“Yes, sir.”
The curt reply seemed out of place in the general atmosphere of goodwill; Bush was distinctly conscious of it, and of the pause which followed.
“Is all well?” asked the captain at length, apologetic about prying into someone else’s business and yet led to do so by the silence.
“Yes, sir.” Hornblower was turning his glass round and round on the table between long nervous fingers, every finger a foot long, it seemed to Bush. “He has made me commander into Retribution.”
The words were spoken quietly, but they had the impact of pistol shots in the silence of the room.
“God bless my soul!” said the captain. “Then that’s our new toast. To the new commander, and a cheer for him too!”
Bush cheered lustily and downed his brandy.
“Good old Hornblower!” he said. “Good old Hornblower!”
To him it was really excellent news; he leaned over and patted Hornblower’s shoulder. He knew his face was one big smile, and he put his head on one side and his shoulder on the table so that Hornblower should get the full benefit of it.
Buckland put his glass down on the table with a sharp tap.