'Gittin' along fine, chum. They're sendin' me 'ome on leaf in four days. Wot's th' noos; an' wot's that?' Pincher pointed to the single anchor which adorned the sleeve of his friend's jumper.
Joshua looked solemn. 'I gits rated up ten days ago,' he explained; 'death vacancy. Poor ole Byles got laid out, yer remember. I'd sooner 'e wus still wearin' th' killick, poor bloke!' He spoke huskily.
Pincher nodded. 'Wot are yer doin' 'ere?' he asked.
'The ship's in dock, an' they gave us ten days' leaf,' answered his friend. 'By the way,' he added, 'I suppose you 'eard as 'ow you'd bin rated up.'
'Wot?'
'They've made yer an A.B.'
'S'welp me!' Pincher ejaculated; ''ave they?'
'Yus, they 'ave, Pinch; an' if yer don't watch it we'll see yer a leadin' seaman afore long.'
'Yer didn't come 'ere a purpose ter tell me that, did yer?' Martin queried suspiciously.
''Ow d'yer mean?'