"I'll tell ye all in guid time," replied the R.N.V.R. officer, whose shoulder-straps denoted that he was a Sub no longer but a full-blown lieutenant. "But just tell me: where's that golf club of mine I gave you to mend?"
"'Fraid it's at the bottom of the North Sea," replied Meredith. "'All goods left at owner's risk,' you know. But tell me when did you leave Auldhaig?"
"Last May," replied Jock gloomily. "After I lost that confounded lighter my name was Mud. They gave me an M.L., but she's a swine. She's known as the Scapa Misfit—an' she is," he added bitterly. "There's been three fires in the galley—petrol stoves are a curse—once I stove her bows in 'cause the rudder chains jammed, and now she's laid up with a fractured cylinder. Hope she is still!"
"Chuck it, you bloomin' pessimist!" exclaimed Wakefield boisterously. "Say you re glad to see us——"
"I did," declared McIntosh. "And my Sub! He's what you'd call a knock-out. I'll swop with you, Meredith. P'raps you could make something of him—give him poison, or muzzle him, or shanghai him."
"What's he done?" asked Kenneth.
Before Jock McIntosh could go very far into the reasons why Sub-lieutenant Jasper Clinch was the bane of his existence, the piermaster came hurrying along the jetty.
"Too bad outside," he yelled, addressing the skipper of the tug. "We've just got orders to transfer the men to Wick. It will be an easier passage."
The master of the Growler signified acquiescence. He gave a jerk at the engine-room telegraph, shouted "Finished with the engines, George!" and descended the bridge with the air of a man who has suddenly come into a small fortune. In his case it was a stroke of rattling good luck. Expecting a tempestuous trip across the swirling "Swilkie"—one of the most dangerous "tidal races" round the British Isles—he was greatly surprised and relieved to find that his orders had been countermanded.
One man's meat is another man's poison. This axiom was clearly demonstrated when the order came for all officers and men to disembark, entrain once more, and proceed to Wick—a railway journey of about twenty miles, tedious enough when tacked on to long hours of travelling.