“I think I could milk her, sir,” said Archy.
“Think so, Raystoke?” said the lieutenant. “I was just thinking I should have liked some new milk.”
“So was I, sir. Shall I try?”
“Yes,” said the lieutenant. “I believe I could do it myself. It always looks so easy. But no; won’t do,” he said firmly, as he drew himself up and tried to look stern and tall and big, an impossibility with a man of five feet two inches in height, and whose physique had always been against his advance in the profession. For as a short energetic little man he might have gained promotion; as a little fat rosy fellow the Lords of the Admiralty thought not; and so, after endless disappointments regarding better things, he had been appointed commander of the little White Hawk, and sent to cruise off the south coast and about the Channel, to catch the smugglers who were always too clever to be caught.
“No,” he said shortly, as he drew himself up; “won’t do, Raystoke, though you and I are condemned to live in this miserable little cutter, and on a contemptible kind of duty, we must not forget that we are officers and gentlemen in His Majesty’s service. Milking cows won’t do. No; we must draw the line at milking cows. But I should have liked a drop for my breakfast.”
“Ahoy!” cried one of the men loudly.
“Ahoy yourself!” cried a voice from off the sea on the shore side, and all turned to see a boat approaching rowed by a rough-looking fisherman, and with a lad of about sixteen sitting astern, who now rose up to answer the man who shouted.
“Where did he come from?” said the lieutenant. “Anybody see him put off?”
“No, sir! No, sir!” came from all directions; and the lieutenant raised his glass to sweep the coast.
“What do you want?” cried the man at the side as the boat came on, and the lieutenant bade the man ask.