"Stand up when I speak to you!" growled the Sub, and the Assistant Clerk straightened himself and looked frightened—naturally; he didn't know what was the matter.
"I have taken 'President of the Court' to-night, Mr. Stokes," the Sub began sternly, "and let you have your fun out of it, but I am going to say a few things to you which you are to remember. If you intend to become a credit to yourself and the Navy you must learn to obey orders—that is the first thing. Then you must learn to be manly, which you are not trying to do here. If you hadn't been just a silly, little puppy I should have beaten you; but from now on, you are to be called by your proper name—Stokes—and by nothing else—and—and—dash it all—come with me to my cabin and talk it over."
Ten minutes later they both came back, the Assistant Clerk looking as if he had shed tears.
The Sub put his hand on his shoulder. "Have a drink, Stokes?" and Mr. Stokes looking up, with a suspicion of a tremble on his lips, said: "Thank you, sir, I should like a ginger beer."
"Barnes!" called the Sub; "bring me a whisky and soda, and a ginger beer for Mr. Stokes."
The others kept very quiet.
The evening after that court martial had taken place, and just before dinner, Bubbles and the Orphan, vastly excited, knocked at the door of the Sub's cabin.
"We've had this made for 'Kaiser Bill'," they both began saying, bursting in. "Could we get Fletcher and the tortoise down to the gun-room after dinner, and present it to him—properly?" and they pulled out a brass cross, shaped like a German "Iron Cross", suspended on a piece of coloured ribbon with a proper brooch and four "clasps".
The Sub examined it, smiling as he read on one side of the cross "Kaiser Bill—the Tortoise", on the other "Good Luck"; and on the clasps: "Achates, 1915-16"—"Smyrna"—"'W' beach"—and on the fourth—a very broad one: "Evacuation, Suvla—Helles".
"We got it made on board," they said. "Haven't they done it well?"