"What do you think of him, sir?" asked Flemming, indicating the disappearing figure of Mr. Murgatroyd.
"Hardly cricket, Flemming," replied the Scoutmaster, "asking me to pass an opinion. He's our employer, so to speak."
"I didn't mean anything disrespectful," explained the Sea Scout. "I thought it was jolly decent of him to give us that hamper of provisions. What with those we bought we'll feed like fighting-cocks. He's been telling us awfully funny yarns as we came along; he's quite a humorist, and so chirpy."
"Peter Pannish," declared Warkworth. "He doesn't seem to have grown up. Hope I'll be as brisk as he is when I'm his age," he added, with a philosophical air.
Having snugged down and cleaned the engine, all hands piped to tea. It was a pleasant meal eaten on deck in the brilliant sunshine, while Mr. Murgatroyd's contribution was of a choice and lavish kind.
"Now," said Mr. Armitage, consulting his wristlet watch, "it's six o'clock. Time for a good brisk stroll before supper. What's that I hear, Woodleigh? A suggestion to go to the 'pictures'? All those in favour? None. Your motion's lost, Woodleigh. For my part, I wouldn't waste a beautiful evening like this in a hot, stuffy room, and I'm glad five of you share my opinion. On a long, dull winter's evening it's different. One hand will have to remain on board, so you had better toss for it."
A coin was spun until only Woodleigh and Roche were left in the running.
Roche grinned at his companion.
"Hard lines if you lose, Bill," he remarked.
The coin glinted in the sunlight and fell head uppermost. Woodleigh had chosen tails, and he had lost.