“Light the lamp, Bill,” said Ted.
Bill struck a tandsticker match, and carefully nursing the tiny sulphurous flame with his hand, saw dimly some high-coloured object on the floor.
He got out of his bunk and lit the lamp, and an angry and very drunken member of Her Majesty’s foot forces became visible.
“Wot are you doin’ ’ere?” inquired Ted, sharply, “this ain’t the guard-room.”
“Who knocked me over?” demanded the soldier sternly; “take your co—coat off lik’ a man.”
He rose to his feet and swayed unsteadily to and fro.
“If you keep your li’l’ ’eads still,” he said gravely, to Bill, “I’ll punch ’em.”
By a stroke of good fortune he selected the real head, and gave it a blow which sent it crashing against the woodwork. For a moment the seaman stood gathering his scattered senses, then with an oath he sprang forward, and in the lightest of fighting trim waited until his adversary, who was by this time on the floor again, should have regained his feet.
“He’s drunk, Bill,” said another voice, “don’t ’urt ’im. He’s a chap wot said ’e was coming aboard to see me—I met ’im in the Green Man this evening. You was coming to see me, mate, wasn’t you?”
The soldier looked up stupidly, and gripping hold of the injured Bill by the shirt, staggered to his feet again, and advancing towards the last speaker let fly suddenly in his face.