"Good-night, sir."
Kep went away in the dinghy.
It was a lovely starry night, with, high above, the southern cross, and the moon's rays shimmering on the water.
Kep, who was a good diplomatist, took out his piccolo, and quavering over the waters came now the unearthly music of that proud old song which touches the spine of every true British sailor or soldier, namely,
"Good-night. All's well."
"By George!" said Guilford to McTavish, "he is a broth of a boy."
"Yes, and we must have him. He is bound to be the sauciest boy in the Service."
Kep was rated all right--interpreter. And he so pleased the gun-room officers that he was invited to become an honorary member of their mess.
And Kep was happy now, more especially as Adolph was chosen to supersede the Captain's steward, who had died in the Mozambique channel.
One day very soon after, brown-faced Gunner Stormalong sought audience of the Commander of the Newt.