"Been up?" inquired "Tough Geordie." "I mean to have a trip aloft before I finish here."
"Find things a bit dull?" asked Kenneth.
"A bit," admitted Morpeth. "Since the Grand Fleet pushed off there's not much doing. A fellow gets sick of looking at a crowd of Hun ships day after day and not knowing what's going on."
"Eh?" inquired Kenneth curiously.
"'Twouldn't have been my way with the brutes," explained Morpeth. "Practically leaving them to their own devices. We made them come out: why can't we put the stopper on them?"
"What's the matter with your foot?" asked Meredith, noticing that his "companion walked with a slight limp.
"For over four years," he said, "I never had a chance to lay a Fritz out. I don't call blowing a few dozen up the same thing. But I did to-day. I was up beyond Stenness, where you know the Huns are allowed the run of the show. Hanged if I didn't bear a woman yelling like billy-o. So I ran up in double quick time and found three Huns robbing her hen-roost. Took a fowl under her very nose, as cool as brass. When they saw me they looked a bit scared, until they found that I had only one arm and there was no one else about. Three of them to a one-armed man is about their mark. They showed fight. So did I. I forgot my missing arm and imagined I was handling Dagoes in the old Foul Anchor Line. Biffed one right in the jaw, staggered another on the solar plexus. The third hooked it."
"And your foot?"
"Travelled a little faster than the fellow who hooked it," replied Morpeth grimly. "Three knots faster, I'll allow, but I forgot that I was wearing thin shoes and not fat, solid sea-boots. By the way Fritz yelled I reckon I hurt him more than he did me, and he won't go robbing hen-roosts again in a hurry."
"Have a trip to-morrow?" asked Meredith. "We're going out to look for the Hun relief ship. Cumberleigh's coming."