CHAPTER I
THE TWO SUB-LIEUTENANTS
"Below there! You in, George?"
George—otherwise Kenneth Meredith, sub-lieutenant R.N.V.R. and second-in-command of H.M. Motor Launch 1071—deliberately blotted five lines of his weekly epistle to the fond ones at home. Unperturbed by a heavy fusillade upon the deck—the sound being caused by a broken golf club vigorously manipulated by an as yet invisible person—Meredith dexterously threw into envelopes and blotting-pad into a conveniently placed rack, rammed the cork into the glass ink-bottle, and thrust his fountain-pen, which either "founted" like a miniature Niagara or else obstinately refused to "fount" at all, into the breast pocket of his monkey-jacket.
Interruptions are many and varied on board the M.L.'s. At almost any hour of the day and night when the little craft were lying alongside the parent ship, casual visitors were apt to drop in, to say nothing of callers on more or less urgent Service matters. An officer is supposed to receive visitors with complete equanimity whether he be in the midst of shaving, dressing, having a meal, or even a bath. Privacy is practically non-existent. Almost the only exception is when the lawful occupant of the cabin is engaged in private correspondence.
Hence Meredith's hurried preliminaries before replying to the noisy summons on deck.
"Come in," he shouted. "Visitors are requested to leave sticks and umbrellas in charge of the hall porter—Oh, dash it all! That's my toe!" he ejaculated, as the steel-shod end of the golf club was dropped through the hatchway and fell with a dull thud upon the Sub's foot.
Seizing the lethal weapon, Meredith stood up and prepared to take summary vengeance upon the lower portions of its owner, who was descending the vertical ladder leading to the diminutive ward-room of M.L. 1071.
Instinctively the newcomer must have realised that reprisals were in the air, for, grasping the rim of the coaming, he dropped lightly to the floor and faced the second-in-command.