Plunky Bill evidently thought he had a grievance, and growled out that "'E wasn't going to be bothered with young females, not 'im; a-making 'im look so foolish-like".
"Well, they ain't no use, nohow," the gunner's mate grunted, jerking a thumb towards the heavy sea.
"Any news, sir?" the gunner's mate shouted, when he and the Orphan had regained the lee of the conning-tower, round which solid icy spray swished almost continuously. "The Ruskies are giving it to them Austrians in the neck, proper like, ain't they, sir?"
"Didn't hear any," the miserable Orphan shouted back.
"D'you know where we're off to?" the other asked.
"North Sea again," the Orphan told him.
The gunner's mate had no use for the North Sea—never wanted to see it again, and said so in blood-curdling language.
"What about the Dardanelles, sir?" he asked a moment later. "That's the place I'd like to be in. There's a sight of old 'tubs' gone out there. Any news, sir?"
But the Orphan had heard none, and climbed up on the bridge above to have a yarn with the midshipman of the watch—the Pimple.
He was full of schemes for "ragging" the China Doll.