"Sorry I spoke, sir," he apologised. "I thought you wus one o' these 'ere la-de-dah blokes out fur an arrin'. Wot did you say your corpse wus?"
"Corpse! What corpse?"
"Corpse, sir. Rig'mint."
"Oh, I see. I'm only a doctor, a Lieutenant in the R.A.M.C. I'm on sick leave, and crawled up here to-day to get some fresh air and to … er, meet someone I know." I looked at my wrist watch and glanced over my shoulder.
"Young lady, sir?" he queried in a husky, confidential whisper.
I nodded.
"I'm on the same lay meself," he told me, with a throaty sigh and a lovelorn look in his blue eyes. "Expectin' 'er any minit now, seein' as 'ow it's 'er arternoon art. 'Er name's Hamelia, an' I don't come up 'ere to look at the perishin' sea, not 'arf I don't. I gits fair sick o' lookin' at it on board o' the ship."
I was not in the mood for exchanging confidences as to my prospective matrimonial affairs, and my silence must have said as much.
"Beggin' your pardon, sir; but seein' as 'ow you're a doctor, I wonder if you 'appens to know our bloke in the Jackass?"
"Who, your doctor?"