"Considering the limited appliances at your disposal, Barnes, you've done toppingly," declared Burgoyne.
"Glad to hear it, sir," replied the steward, but he omitted to mention that a great share of the credit was due to Twill, his assistant, whose medical knowledge gained in his student days was being put to good use.
His round completed, Burgoyne returned to the quarters allotted to the ship's officers, where he found his belated meal cold but none the less acceptable.
By that time the huts were invaded by the crews of the other captured ships. Keen to know the latest possible news of the outside world, they were anxious to fraternize.
Amongst the visitors to the officers' room was Captain Davis.
"All shipshape an' Bristol fashion, I see," he remarked cheerily. "Nothing like making the best of things. I'd like to have your cook. He must be a gem. The whiff of your grub drifted over our way and nearly drove the boys frantic with envy. Well, it's close on time to douse lights, so we won't stay."
"Douse lights?" repeated Burgoyne. "Is there any rule about that?"
"There is and there isn't," replied the skipper of the Kittiwake, with a grin. "If you put 'em out at nine, well and good. If you don't, often as not old Strogoff will beat up a party to hoist up ashes or some such job. So we've learnt a trick and out go the lights. Cheerio, everybody."
Ten minutes later Alwyn Burgoyne was in a deep, dreamless slumber.