‘Mine is the “perisher” you will not spot,’ replied Raymond with dignity. ‘Not if you try ever so. Not if you try with both hands, you won’t.’
‘The youth bores me,’ sighed Jenkins, and fled as the Naval Annual banged up against the bulkhead.
He made his way down the flat, where the Marine sentry stood at stolid attention, and glimpses could be had, through open doors, of those who wrestled manfully with collars, and the air was rent with shrill cries and splashings from the bathroom. Messengers and officers’ servants were bustling about, and there was a general air of early morning energy. At the end of the flat, he stepped up the companion and emerged on the quarter-deck, where he gravely raised his hand to the salute.
‘Hallo, Jinks!’ cried a being, whose sword-belt and telescope proclaimed him the Officer of the Watch; ‘I was surprised to find your packet alongside when I took over at eight o’clock. What’s the game?’
‘I’m giving Raymond a run, and as I’m short of torpedo-lifting gear, I got permission to come alongside and take some in before shoving out of the harbour.’
‘I see. What time are you shoving off though, because “147” will be back in half an hour’s time and she’ll want your berth alongside the trot[9]?’
‘Don’t you worry. I’m off now. If you’d taken careful stock of me you’d have seen the business-like look in my eye.’
‘That’ll be all right then. Good luck. When are you coming aboard to dine with us, by the way?’
‘Any old time when I’m free will suit me.’
‘Well, come to-night, then. Dinner’s at seven-thirty. Cheer-oh.’