The skipper was busy charging his pipe. “Is it U-boats ye’re askin’ about, Maggie?” he said slowly, in his loud voice. “I’m tellin’ ye, on that last home’ard trip, the peeriscopes was like a forest!”
David Cathles winked to his sweetheart; then perceiving that the answer had scared his mother, he said:
“Come, come, Uncle! Surely ’twasn’t quite so bad as that. ‘A forest’ is a bit thick, isn’t it?”
“Well, there was room for the Hesperus to get through, I’ll allow,” the skipper said, striking a match extracted from his vest pocket, “otherwise I wouldn’t be settin’ here tellin’ the blessed truth every time.” He lay back and puffed complacently, staring at the fire.
“Never you mind him, Mother,” said the young man. “’Tis me he’s seekin’ to terrify: he’d just as soon I didn’t sail wi’ him, after all; ’fraid o’ me learnin’ what a poor skipper he is!”
Now David ought to have known better. People who are good at giving chaff are seldom good at taking it. The girl, however, was quick to note the stiffening of the burly figure.
“Captain Whinn,” she remarked promptly, but without haste, “ye must be a terrible brave man to ha’ come through all ye ha’ come through, since the war started.”
“Not at all, my dear,” was the modest reply; “I’m no braver’n several cases I’ve heard on.”
David, who had seen his own blunder, was grateful to Esther for the diversion, and sought to carry it further.
“Well, Uncle Whinn,” he said respectfully, “I think we’d all like to hear what yourself considers the pluckiest bit o’ work done by a chap in the Merchant Service durin’ the—”