"Delayed by fog possibly," remarked the lieutenant-commander. "Still, it's no affair of the Admiralty's since the ship is sold."
"The paper hints at something mysterious."
"Naturally. There's been a dearth of news for the last month or more, and this is a good opportunity of arousing public interest. She'll turn up all right, with two tugs looking after her. Well, what's this?"
Drake turned to receive a message from a signalman.
"I say, you fellows," he exclaimed. "The Frome will be well represented in the Fifth Division Team. Thompson's sent a signal from the depot-ship asking me to play. They must be fearfully hard up for players, because I am awfully out of practice."
"Of course you'll play?" asked Fielding, eagerly, for Drake had a reputation as a hard slogger at no very distant date.
"I'll do my best, rest assured," replied Drake, modestly, as he deliberately folded his newspaper, and placed it in the rack. "But business first and pleasure afterwards—it's time for divisions."
The morning passed only too quickly, for there was much to be done in the way of routine, and at 2 p.m. Drake, Fielding, and Cardyke, all in mufti, went ashore. A taxi quickly bore them to the officers' Recreation Ground, where most of the rival teams had already gathered.
Matches between the officers of the various ships and torpedo destroyer divisions were a favourite amusement in the Portsmouth command, the game usually being followed by an informal dinner, the losing side having to pay all expenses.
Confident in the batting capabilities of the Fifth Division team, Drake expressed his willingness to eat his hat should they fail to win.