"Isn't it a good thing, after all, that poor old Laddie isn't with us? What a horrible time he would have without anything to drink!"
"He would have had half my share whatever happened," declared Osborne resolutely. "But, unfortunately, there is no necessity for that. I wish there were."
Webb made no further remark upon the subject. He knew that Osborne was still awfully cut up about the loss of his pet, and now, rather clumsily, he had touched upon the matter of the dog's death.
"We do look a pretty pair," he remarked, setting out on a fresh tack. "Our fond parents wouldn't recognize us if they could see us now."
"They would be very pleased to," was his chum's rejoinder; "or rather, we should both be most delighted to see them at home. I've had enough of African sands to last a lifetime. And these flies!"
A petty officer, mopping the perspiration from his face, wriggled past his comrades in the narrow trench, and approached the Lieutenant and his chum.
"Cap'n's compliments, sir," he said as he saluted. "He'd like to have a word with Mr. Webb."
Webb found Captain M'Bride consulting with the gunner and the bos'n. Seeing Webb hesitate, he signed to him to approach.
"I've a little job on hand, Mr. Webb," he said. "After due consideration I've decided that you are the best officer I can spare for the business. We're short of water. Up to the present there is no sign of the Restormel putting in an appearance to search for us. The niggers are evidently going to protract their assault and subject us to a state of siege. So since help is not forthcoming, we must fetch it. In short, I want you to take the whaler and make a dash for Crete. Mr. Cox" (indicating the bos'n) "has examined the boat, and finds that she's seaworthy. A few slight repairs will have to be made, but they won't take long. The distance is roughly 180 miles, but perhaps you'll fall in with a vessel before that."
"Hope it won't be a U-boat, sir," remarked the Sub.