“Silence!” warned the master-at-arms.
“I hope you will not forget the lesson. Control your temper. Unless you are able to manage your own temper you will never be fit to manage other men. You will have to conquer yourself before you can look for promotion in the service.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You will be placed in the brig for two days, on bread and water, with one full ration in the middle of the second day. And, Kester!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your record in the past has not been any too good. I trust I shall not hear of your getting into further trouble. You have been long enough in the service to know how to keep out of mischief.”
The captain motioned to the master-at-arms to remove the prisoner.
Sam Hickey, with head erect, saluted his superior officers, faced about, marching steadily ahead of the master-at-arms, on his way to be punished for an offense that he felt sure he had not committed.
“I wish I’d hit Kester harder, while I was about it,” Hickey muttered.
“I’m sorry, lad, but discipline is discipline,” remarked the petty officer as he clanged the door of the brig on Hickey.