The warning came too late. With one foot on the motor-boat and the other on the duty-boat, the luckless bowman tried to save himself by recovering his lost balance. In vain; the gap increased more and more until, with a loud splash, the man plunged into the icy water.
Fortunately he could swim, but the task of getting him on board, encumbered as he was with oilskin jacket and trousers, was not an easy one. It was not until Derek and the engineer came to his assistance that the bowman was hauled into the boat.
There was now no option but to return to the pier and land the shivering man. Provided with a stiff glass of brandy, he was sent back to his room to change, his arrival in saturated clothes being hailed with good-natured banter by his comrades.
As the duty-boat pushed off to resume her interrupted patrol the sergeant-coxswain must needs emulate the bowman's example, for on stepping from the pier steps to the boat his foot slipped, and into the water he went.
That meant more brandy and another coxswain. "The next man who tumbles into the ditch will not get any brandy," declared Derek, by way of warning. Doubtless the hint was taken, for there was no further trouble in that direction.
Back to the depot to change for dinner, and Derek's duty ended for the rest of the day. Yet there was work for him to do—the task of getting ready to proceed on his eleven days' leave.
At eight the following morning Derek set out on his long journey, travelling to the railway station in a tender in default of a car, for the three motor-cars attached to the depot had all been placed hors de combat on Christmas Eve. It was an enjoyable, though a crowded railway journey. Packed in with nine other officers, a civilian, and a dog in a first-class compartment, Derek found himself in good company. The spirit of Yule-tide predominated, and even though the crowded train was an hour late, stopping at every station, and frequently between stations, the prospect of getting home smoothed over the inconvenience of travelling.
"Well, Derek," remarked Captain Daventry after dinner, when father and son were alone, "the war's over, or practically so. Men are being demobilized right and left. The papers teem with advertisements from released officers requiring employment. What do you propose doing?"
"Hanging on, Pater, in the Micawber-like spirit: hoping that something may turn up."
"And what are the prospects?"