The admiral paused. Had old Garge Cottenham extended the invitation to him, the bluff old sea-dog could not have resisted the call of the sea--e'en were it through the medium of a five-ton smack. Between the man who in the splendour of a gold-laced uniform had directed the movements of a fleet and the other who grasped the tiller of a grubby fishing-boat existed a common tie--that mysterious and overpowering freemasonry of the sea.
On second thoughts, Admiral Sefton remembered his comfortable bed and well-ordered repast, comparing them with the discomforts of a night afloat and relatively hard fare.
Here Jack stepped nobly into the breach.
"Perhaps the kid wouldn't object if I went with him," he suggested. "Not keen on it, you know, but----"
And so it came to pass that when Leslie coaxed his big brother the latter capitulated.
"But what if your fisherman pal declined to ship me with him?" he added.
"No fear," replied Leslie. "I'll make that all right; only don't tell him you're an officer."
"Oh, for why?" enquired the sub.
"I don't know exactly," was his brother's reply. "Somehow I fancy Old Garge doesn't like naval officers."
Wherein Leslie was correct. Years ago Skipper Cottenham had fallen foul of the lieutenant-in-charge of a revenue cutter, and the memory of the meeting still rankled.