"Rather unorthodox, what?" queried the engineer-lieutenant, smiling at the sight of a fellow ramming choice Egyptian cigarette tobacco into a briar.
"Possibly," admitted the other. "The main thing is that I've filled my pipe."
He struck a match, effectually shielding the light by his hands after the manner of men accustomed to do so in the teeth of a gale. "Now to return to earth once more."
"Slogger, by all that's wonderful!" exclaimed a crisp, full-toned voice. "What is dear old Slogger doing down in this part of the country?"
"Cadging tobacco," replied the R.N.V.R. man. "Also looking after the welfare and morals of a party of bluejackets. Bless my soul, Holcombe, this is great. Let me see—three years, isn't it, since we knocked up against each other?"
"Three years and two months," admitted Sub-Lieutenant Holcombe. "I saw your appointment announced and meant to write to you. Somehow I didn't. Why? Ask me another. I can't tell you. What's your ship?"
"The 'Tantalus,'" replied Farrar. "We're just off on convoy duties to the West Indies. Oh, by the way, let me introduce you to Tommy."
"Too late, old bird," exclaimed Holcombe, shaking hands with the engineer-lieutenant. "Tommy was in his last term at Osborne when I joined. D'ye remember that topping rag we had at Cowes, Tommy? Of course you do. An' I hear you dropped in for a chunk of kudos in the Jutland scrap?"
"Oh, dry up, do!" protested the modest hero. "What's your packet?"
"The 'Antipas,'" replied Holcombe. "Just commissioning."