‘I was the only one they would enlist; I mean to say, my father had some influence with the Japanese minister in London.’
‘But you’re very young; how old are you?’
‘Well, I don’t like to say; I mean there’s a reason I can’t tell my age,—I mean, I went to South Africa when I was sixteen; you see that’s under age for military service in the British Army.’ The Captain waited a moment, then started off again. ‘I’ve got medals from five campaigns.’
‘I’d like to see them.’
Indifferently he opened his jacket.
‘There are six,’ I remarked.
‘Oh, that’s not a campaign medal; that’s a medal of the Legion of Frontiersmen. I mean to say, I was one of the organisers of that.’
Weare and I recognised the type. There are many of them abroad and some wear little American flags. But, of course, to us they are more grotesque when they affect the monocle. We knew Squall would not be insulted if we turned the conversation to the matter of most interest to us at that moment.
‘For my part,’ said Weare, ‘I could do well with something to eat just now. One doesn’t eat much on a torpedo-boat.’
With the prospects of our companionship—for Squall was boycotted by most of the correspondents—he led us away to his roof to get us a meal; and, for what the town provided, a good meal he served us. He did his own cooking, but he did it because he liked to cook,—he meant to say, he had money coming to him from the sale of a motor-car in London, and he had just lost fifteen or twenty thousand pounds—the exact amount did not matter either to us or to him.