"It's all very well for you, sir. You are thin all the way down—the Padre's only thin 'up topsides'." the Navigator laughed.
The Captain sang a song, and joined in the choruses of others till the time came for his usual visit to the bridge. Then he put on his mess-jacket and wished them all "good night".
"Good night, sir!" everyone said, standing up as he went away.
After this the sing-song became a little more boisterous, until finally the climax came when the Fleet-Paymaster, bursting in with a cushion he had borrowed from the Padre's cabin, endeavoured to score a "try" between the legs of the piano. He was forced into touch, banged against the ship's side, the cushion seized, and a most delightful game of Rugby football followed.
Dr. Gordon had a little work to do—mending people—afterwards, whilst the sing-song gradually broke up, the clamour subsided, and one after the other all went away to turn in, and peace and quietness reigned once more.
On the way back to the gun-room the Sub asked Uncle Podger to come into his cabin.
"Look here, Uncle, that youngster of yours took advantage of my dining in the ward-room to-night to wear those pink socks. I don't care a tinker's curse if he wears all the colours of the rainbow out of uniform, but I had told him not to do so in uniform. It's just this: the snotties—all of us—are spoiling him, treating him like a plaything or a little girl. He can't even talk sensibly now, or make an ordinary remark without saying something silly to try and make us laugh at him. He wore those socks to-night to make the snotties laugh at him and "rag" him; and that silly song he sang, and that silly blinking of his eyes when the ward-room officers clapped him—well, it's got to be stopped. What a horrible time he will have, when he goes to another ship and tries his baby tricks there! and what will he be like when he grows up? He's a good little chap, really, and as plucky as paint at sports. We must do something."
"I don't know," Uncle Podger reflected. "I feel just as you do. He's being absolutely spoiled. He's absolutely useless in the office; I do believe he spends his time thinking of what he can do next to make them laugh at him. They were talking at dinner to-night of getting up a gun-room court martial and trying him one night before we get to Malta. The snotties knew you had ordered him not to wear those socks, and thought of trying him for that. The China Doll thinks he's going to have the time of his life."
"Right," said the Sub, "and I'll take 'President'; he shall have the time of his life."
"You won't be too hard on him?" Uncle Podger asked, a little anxiously.