Brian Strong shook his head.
"Imagination!" he replied briefly.
"'Fraid you're right," rejoined his companion disconsolately, but seized with an inspiration, he drew his automatic and fired two shots into the air.
A few minutes later, a dug-out canoe, manned by a dozen Indians, appeared round the bend of the river.
CHAPTER XVIII
Orders for Cavendish
"Commander wishes to see you, sir!" Sub-lieutenant Havelock de Vere Cavendish—affectionately known to his brother-officers as "Weeds" and known to have answered readily to the sobriquet "Plug"—acknowledged the marine orderly's announcement.
Cavendish was in a shore-billet—the Royal Naval Barracks at Portsmouth—having just completed a gunnery course at Whale Island. He was speculating upon what manner of craft his next ship would be. He rather fancied a destroyer, but would have been in no way surprised or disappointed if he were appointed to a light cruiser. He was not particularly keen on a battleship. That meant a two-years commission either in home waters or in the Mediterranean—and already, in his comparatively brief career, he had seen enough of Malta and Gib. to express a wish never to see either place again.
Life on a battleship in peace-time, he reflected, was apt to savour of boredom; on a destroyer there were discomforts, but on the whole there were compensations. It gave a fellow a chance to do something that would be impossible on a capital ship. A sub on a destroyer was a responsible person; on a battleship, he was one of a crowd.