Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn turned sulky. "I'm living here, sir."
"The doose you are!—Well, you're in the nick of time. Be a good fellow and fetch my hat out of the boat."
"Certainly, sir," said Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. But as he started to do so, he caught sight of the Admiral. He turned to Jack and said respectfully but firmly, "I'm very sorry, Master Jack; but I can't do it."
"Why not?"
"I'm looked up to here, sir. I should lose prestige."
Jack eyed him half with suspicion and half with mockery. "I say, Hoskyn, what's your little game?"
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was getting angry. "What's yours, sir?" he asked defiantly.
"What the devil do you mean?"
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn pointed an accusing finger at the wine and the crumbs of cake. "I mean—this."
"What of it? What do you insinuate?" cried Jack fiercely.