“Well, I think I’ll go below and see if the engines are going to hold together.” Duval gestured cheerily and walked out of the salon, balancing himself, catlike, on the rolling deck.
The Major got to his feet and stretched. He felt lazy and at ease. This was the first real vacation he had had since the war began. It was good not to be writing and reading reports and making inspections.
He had enjoyed his visit to Andrefski Bay, though. The ATS Captain had been a bit hard to take but the officers had been most obliging. He had finally made out a report saying that the port should be closed except for a small housekeeping crew. This report had naturally made him popular with the bored men of Andrefski.
The Major walked about the empty salon, examining the books. They seemed as dull as ever to him. He decided he would finish reading about Gordon. He had read little more than a page when Hodges strolled into the salon and sat down beside him. The Major closed the book.
“A little rougher,” commented Hodges.
“Yes. I suppose they’ve changed course again. Have you been up in the wheelhouse?”
“No, I was down in the focs’le. I was talking with some of the crew.”
“Really?” Major Barkison was not sure if this was such a good thing; as experience, however, it might be rewarding. “What did they have to say?”
“Oh, not so much. They were talking about an Indian who drank some methyl alcohol the other night.”
“Yes, I heard about that.”