"Yes, sir," was the reply in unison.
"What did you have for dinner in your mess?" pursued Mostyn, addressing Partridge.
"B'iled mutton, sir; and it weren't 'arf good."
"Not 'arf," corroborated the other bird. "An' b'iled peas an' dumplin's an' orl that."
"Right-o!" rejoined Peter briskly. "That shows you're both as fit as fiddles. We start sea routine at 10 p.m. You'll take on till four bells, Partridge——"
"Say, wot about my dinner?" objected the Watcher.
"Dinner?" repeated Mostyn, failing to grasp the reason of his subordinate's objection. "What's that got to do with it?"
"Dinner's at two bells, sir."
The Wireless Officer suppressed a desire to laugh.
"Four bells in the middle watch," explained Peter.