In the gun-room of the Achates that night, the Sub, Bubbles, and the Orphan tried to answer questions and eat at the same time.
"It was that south-west wind that sprang up," the Lamp-post said. "Directly it started blowing, the Turks thought to themselves, 'Well, they won't try to slip away to-night, at any rate', got out their hubble-bubble pipes, and began playing 'patience'."
"You must have been there, old Lampy," Uncle Podger laughed. "Was it pretty to watch? What kind of patience did they play?"
"You know what I mean," the Lamp-post said. "Don't try to be funny."
"I believe he's right," the Sub said, with his mouth full. "My jumping Jimmies, didn't we have luck?"
The China Doll sat listening, with his eyes opening and shutting, and his mouth wide open, fearfully excited, especially when the Orphan, in the interval of "Another helping, please, Barnes!" told them all about the shells coming into the "dug-outs", and the third one which just missed Bubbles outside the kitchen door.
In the middle of all this, the Pimple rushed in, shouting: "We're off to Malta! Off to Malta to refit! The signal has just come through! As soon as ever we get back all our men, off we go! You can't say I don't bring you news, can you?"
In a moment the evacuation, and the bursting shells, and all the thrilling adventures—even the two macintoshes and electric torches looted by Plunky Bill—had been entirely forgotten. They all yelled with joy, and wondered how long the Achates would remain at Malta, where she would go afterwards, and what ships would be there for them to challenge at cricket or hockey.
"You'll have to give me that dinner there, Rawlins, old chap," grinned the Lamp-post, referring to the "race" in their "water-beetles".
"Ra-ther!" said Rawlins. "We'll have a regular slap-up 'eat-till-you-burst' show at the Club, won't we?"