“That was so that any might study who were inclined. I am not inclined.”
“No more am I,” added Stokes, laughing, as the Burgundy began to operate in his upper story.
“As a matter of duty, I don’t know as we ought to let this thing go any farther; for, as the case stands now, O’Hara is actually running away with the vessel,” continued Gregory, whose speech was beginning to be a little thick. “When a lot of fellows ran away with the Tritonia, and were going on an independent cruise in her, the ones that took possession of her and brought her back were treated like lords by the faculty, and praised up to the skies for what they had done.”
“Come in, Lawring!” called Clinch, as he saw the other quartermaster of the starboard watch at the door of the mess-room.
“Capt. Fairfield sent me to see what had become of Stokes,” said Lawring, as he came into the mess-room.
“Well, you see, don’t you?” leered Gregory, whose head was buzzing as though it contained a circular saw in motion. “Here, Lawring, you are a good fellow.”
The first officer took the second bottle of Burgundy from the locker (for the first was empty by this time), and filled the glass on the table. Clinch looked out of the window on the deck to warn his companion of the approach of any one who might interfere with their pastime. But no one disturbed them.
“Drink this, Lawring,” said Gregory, when he had filled the glass.
“What is it?” inquired the quartermaster, as he looked from one to another in the apartment, wondering what could be going on.
“It’s the best wine on board of the Ville d’Angers, and as good as you can find anywhere,” replied Gregory in maudlin tones. “Take it, Lawring: it will do you good.”