"They're not even going to make good the kit I lost when the Lake Killarney went down!"
"Still," said the sub-lieutenant, "virtue is its own reward, you know."
"Damn," said Lawless, and pitched the missive through the open port hole.
CHAPTER VII
THE RIDING LIGHT
The manners and customs of the Powers that Be may puzzle the ordinary man, but those whose duty it is to serve the said Powers know that their inconsistency is consistent—which is really not such a paradox as it sounds. Because of this and of the water-tight compartments into which the administrative body is divided, a number of destroyers was patrolling Irish waters at the same time that the High Olympians were, to all appearances, blandly unconscious of the German intrigue with certain Irish malcontents. Among this flotilla was the Knat, and her orders were to keep a sharp look-out for gun-runners, who, if rumour did not lie, were extremely busy about this time.
Nevertheless, although Lawless had been on duty for over a fortnight, not the ghost of a gun-runner had he, or any of his crew, seen, and the monotony of the work was becoming extremely irksome to all. One afternoon Lawless left Sub-Lieutenant Trent in charge of the bridge, and, going below, solaced himself with music and song till the bass string of his banjo snapped. It was at this moment that a bridge-messenger appeared with a "Beg parding, sir, but you're wanted on the bridge."
With a sigh of resignation, the Lieutenant flung his banjo on the settee and made his way to the bridge.
"Thought you'd like to have a squint at that Norwegian packet over there," said Trent, indicating a cargo steamer some distance off on the port bow with the Norwegian colours painted conspicuously on her hull amidships.