"WHAT are you going to do with yourself, old man?" inquired Eric Greenwood, late assistant-paymaster of H.M.S. "Tantalus," after the court-martial had sat upon the survivors of the lost cruiser and, following its finding, the officers and men of the sunk vessel had been given fourteen days' leave.
"Hardly know yet," replied Farrar. "Run up to town, I expect—may get a bit of excitement there; or else look up some of my people's friends at Lymbury, although it's five years or more since we—that is, my parents—left the place. The governor's got a Staff job out in New Zealand."
"Look here," exclaimed the A.P. impetuously. "Come and sling your hammock at my people's place. My governor has just taken a house at Penkestle, close to where Tressidar's family hang out. The skipper of the 'Antipas' is my revered brother-in-law. I suppose you know that?"
Farrar shook his head.
"Well," continued Greenwood, "that's neither here nor there as far as present circumstances stand. I have an open invite for any of my pals, so how about it? Fishing, shooting, and all that sort of thing, but I'm afraid motoring's dead off."
"Thanks, I'm on," accepted Farrar promptly. Truth to tell he had not been looking forward to his leave with pleasurable anticipations. "Knocking around" without any definite plan of action was distasteful to him, but the A.P.'s invitation put a totally different aspect upon things.
"But I say," he added dubiously, "what about Bruno?"
"Bruno, of course, stands in," declared Greenwood. "My people are very keen on dogs—large ones especially. I'll wire off at once, and we'll catch the 4.45 from Trecurnow. We'll have to change at St. Penibar."
"Where is Penkestle?" asked the sub.
"About four miles from Trebalda: you know where that place is?"