For the full three-quarters of an hour the instructor bullied and badgered the midshipmen in a manner that outvied Lieutenant Garboard's treatment of the men. They had to submit: the alternative of having their leave stopped by the captain put all idea of resistance out of their heads. Finally he made each midshipman write in bold characters, "Mais, que je suis sot," and sign this humiliating confession.
Gathering up the papers the instructor went on deck.
"Will you take any refreshment before you leave?" asked the officer of the watch.
"No, sare, with many tanks. Permit me: my card."
The lieutenant took the proffered piece of pasteboard, and watched the Frenchman go over the side. The coxswain of the gig had been previously cautioned not to allow the instructor to handle the yoke-lines again.
As the boat headed for Kelang Steps the officer of the watch glanced at the instructor's card. It was written in a flowing hand:—
"Jean le Plaisant, professeur de litérature et des langues, Singapore."
The second time the officer of the watch looked at the piece of pasteboard more intently. He even tilted his cap on one side and scratched his closely-cut hair.
"Fetch me the French dictionary from the wardroom," he ordered, and the quarter-deck messenger hastened to carry out his instructions.
Seizing the book the lieutenant hurriedly turned over the pages, then looked dubiously at the retreating gig, now out of hailing distance.