"Sure, and it's welcome ye are to my private yacht, Tom," he called over the side to his companion. "Come aboard and join me party of friends who are thinkin' of cruisin' about for a few weeks at me expense."
"There will be a murder at your expense when the captain sees those muddy marks on his white deck," replied Tom. "She is a beauty though, isn't she?" he continued, gazing critically over the craft's lines and rigging.
"That she is," agreed Tim.
"Avast, you land-lubber," bellowed a voice from the fore-deck.
"Told you so," whispered Tom.
"What did I do?" queried Tim, staring about to discover the cause of the trouble.
"Oh, probably the gentleman who just spoke recognized you," laughed Tom.
"Ow!" yelled Tim, for at that moment a can of varnish which one of the sailors had been lowering from the masthead, reached Tim, and tilting slightly, covered his face with the sticky fluid.
"I'll be after haulin' ye to the gineral," shouted the outraged Tim. "Insultin' a special soldier on special duty is a serious offince."
"You look like a very special soldier," Tom managed to say between his bursts of laughter.