The officer who offered his congratulations was Oswestry, the torpedo-lieutenant of the "Sunderland," who was also a convalescent, having managed to intercept a flying fragment of metal during the momentous engagement.
"Torps" flourished a newspaper with his left hand, for his right arm was in a sling.
"Stop press—Latest news and appointments," he read. "The Admiralty has approved of the following transfer. From R.N.R. to R.N.: Lieutenant Terence Aubyn, to date 3rd of June, 1915."
For a moment Terence looked incredulously at the torpedo-lieutenant. "Torps," he knew, was fond of a practical joke, but if he were playing a prank it was carrying the game a little too far.
"Here you are," continued Oswestry, noting the expression on Terence's face. "Read it for yourself."
"It's worth getting this," said Aubyn, indicating the position of his wound. "All I want now is to be afloat again."
"Young fire-eater!" exclaimed "Torps" facetiously. "Don't you worry—you'll have a look-in before The Day comes. By Jove, Aubyn, you'll have to ask the surgeon if he'll allow you to hold a fête——"
The crunching of boots upon the gravel path caused both officers to turn. Standing at attention was a Marine orderly; behind him a telegraph boy.
"Congratulations pouring in already," remarked "Torps."
Terence took the buff envelope and opened it.