"Jimmy!" gasped the fat midshipman to a lanky youth. "She's got on your togs!"
Meaning that Iris had ransacked the Orient's theatrical wardrobe, and pounced on the swell outfit of the principal female impersonator in the ship's company.
Lieutenant Playdon bit the chin strap of his pith helmet, for the landing party wore the regulation uniform for service ashore in the tropics. He muttered to his chief—
"Damme if I've got the hang of this business yet."
"Neither have I. Anstruther looks a decent sort of fellow, and the girl is a stunner. Yet, d'ye know, Playdon, right through the cruise I've always understood that she was the fiancée of that cad, Ventnor."
"Anstruther appears to have arranged matters differently. Wonder what pa will say when that Johnnie owns up about the court-martial."
"Give it up, which is more than the girl will do, or I'm much mistaken. Funny thing, you know, but I've a sort of hazy recollection of Anstruther's name being mixed up with that of a Colonel's wife at Hong Kong. Fancy Ventnor was in it too, as a witness. Stand by, and we'll see something before we unload at Singapore."