Cannoning off the stove, sweeping a sheaf of books from the wall, glissading from the cushioned lockers, the high-spirited officers tackled each other with mock-serious desperation until, with a violent heave, the athletic doctor deposited his engineering confrère fairly upon the table. With a series of crashes, cups, saucers, tureens, teapot, coffee-pot, eggs and bacon sidled in an indescribable state of chaos upon the floor.
"Time!" exclaimed Sefton authoritatively. "Look here, you fellows. I haven't had my breakfast, and I suppose you haven't had yours? Not that it matters to me. And, Pills, has your supply of bromide run out?"
The combatants separated and began taking stock of the damage.
"You logged a gale of wind last night, I hope, Sefton?" asked the engineer-lieutenant in tones of mock anxiety. "Must account for this smash-up, you know---- Any luck? Have they got it?"
The acting-sub, now that conversation had reverted to the inevitable "it", was bound to admit that the preceding night's labours had been fruitless. The possibilities of the recovery of the much-desired "it" monopolized the attention of the occupants of the ward-room until the steward, outwardly stolidly indifferent to the unsympathetic treatment of his labours, provided another repast.
They were boyish and high-spirited officers on H.M.T.B.D. Calder. Their pranks were but an antidote to the ceaseless strain of days and nights of watch and ward.
"To get back to things mundane," persisted the engineer-lieutenant as the trio sat down to their belated meal, "will they find it?"
"It is my firm belief that they will," replied Sefton decisively. "Even if we have to mark time about here for another month."
"Heaven forbid!" ejaculated the surgeon piously, "I pine for fresh water. Your vile condenser-brewed fluid is simply appalling, my festive Box-spanner. And I yearn for newspapers less than a week old."
The engineer-lieutenant glared defiance at his medical confrère. He knew perfectly well that the water on board was brackish and insipid, but it was condensed under his personal supervision. Any disparaging remarks upon his métier--even if uttered in jest--touched him to the quick.