"A good man for the job, I should imagine," said Meredith, as he proffered his cigarette-case to his superior officer. "Where the Navy would be without the R.N.R. goodness only knows. Those fellows could carry on straight away, but we had to be trained—after a fashion. I remember the first time I tried to bring an M.L. alongside a jetty. There wasn't much tide and hardly any wind, but it took five attempts before I did the trick."
"You were not the only one," said Wakefield reminiscently. "First time I was running at fifteen knots I had the wind up properly. Knew every article on the Rule of Road and all that sort of thing by heart, but the first lumbering old tramp I met drove the whole blessed lot out of my head. Scraped her quarter by less'n a yard, an' it might have been worse."
Kenneth puffed thoughtfully at his pipe.
"Rummy war this," he observed. "When you take things into consideration——"
"Fog's cleared away, and it's a bright moonlight night," announced Morpeth, thrusting his head, surmounted by the salt-stained cap and tarnished badge, through the doorway. "Care to come up and have a look round?"
"Right-o, old thing," replied Wakefield.
Preceded by their host, the M.L. officers ascended the almost vertical steel ladder and gained the deck.
"Mind our tram-lines," cautioned Morpeth, "That's right. Now, what do you think of the old hooker?"