"Mr. Armstrong's pipe is choked, sir, and I saw this bit of wire."
"Dear me! dear me!" smiled the Captain. "Misfortunes never come singly; do they, Mr. Open?"
"No, sir," said the Orphan, not knowing what else to say, and dashed off; found the Pier-master—another Naval Lieutenant—and gave his message. Then he went off with his piece of wire to clear Mr. Armstrong's pipe, and tell him to go down to No. 3 Pier.
"All—right—hold—this—thundering—megaphone— whilst—I—clean—my—pipe."
At No. 3 Pier these latest arrived troops were already marching down into the "stand-by" motor-lighters, with a scuffling of tired feet, a clatter of rifle-butts, and the continual, monotonous, weary sound of "Form two deep! Form two deep!" as more infantry neared the shore end of the pier.
They were tired and dirty and trench-stained, and they cursed as they stumbled against each other in the dark, but they were very cheerful. As soon as one lighter had taken as many as she could hold, she shoved off, and grunted and snorted across to the "Outer Hulk".
"Nip over there; jump into that steamboat," the Pier-master called out. "Find out how many more men that destroyer can take."
The Orphan jumped down into a picket-boat lying alongside, and found Bubbles there.
As he took him across to the destroyer, the Orphan asked him what he had been doing all night.
"Generals, and their Staffs," Bubbles shouted happily. "You've no idea what a lot of trouble I've had with them. Some of them have actually started giving me orders. I've 'told 'em off' properly. They get quite tame then. I've taken some off from 'V' beach as well; everything's going on well down there. This sea running in is pretty beastly, isn't it?"