“You read the Orders, my lad,” replied Vereker. “On the notice-board in the Orderly Room. That post’s the Orderly Room. Written and signed by the Station Staff Officer. And look up Field and General Court-Martials in the King’s Regulations and you’ll know what your Powers are.”
“I say, Berners. Let me find you the least contrary of those turned sausages, and have it nicely fried for you,” begged Augustus. “You’d hardly taste anything awkward about it if you had some lemon-peel done with it. Plenty of lemon-peel and some coco-nut. I’ll find the peel I threw away this morning. . . . Do.”
“This is very kind and thoughtful of you, Gussie. What’s the idea?” replied Berners.
“I want to propitiate you, Berners. You’ll be President of the Court-Martial.”
“And?”
“I want you to promise you won’t have the prisoner found Guilty unless Vereker promises to let me swing on his feet. . . . I’ve never once had the chance. . . . And now my chance has come. . . . And Vereker feels thwartful. . . . It’s due to his having a boil—and no cushion with him. . . . Be a good soul, Berners. . . ”
“Let’s see the sausages,” said the President-elect.
“That’s done it,” admitted Augustus, and dropped the subject with a heavy sigh.
Bertram noticed that, in spite of his flow of cheery nonsense, Augustus ate nothing at all and looked very ill indeed. He remembered a sentence he had read in a book on board the Elymas:
“Comedy lies lightly upon all things, like foam upon the dark waters. Beneath are tragedy and the tears of time.”