He lit his pipe again and gazed fixedly at the opposite hedge. "Two miles from here, where I live," he said, after several vigorous puffs, "there's a little public-'ouse called the Beehive, kept by a lady wot I've got my eye on."
The soldier sat up.
"She won't 'ave me," said the boatswain, with an air of mild surprise.
The soldier leaned back again.
"She's a lone widder," continued Mr. Benn, shaking his head, "and the Beehive is in a lonely place. It's right through the village, and the nearest house is arf a mile off."
"Silly place for a pub," commented Mr. Travers.
"I've been telling her 'ow unsafe it is," said the boatswain. "I've been telling her that she wants a man to protect her, and she only laughs at me. She don't believe it; d'ye see? Likewise I'm a small man—small, but stiff. She likes tall men."
"Most women do," said Mr. Travers, sitting upright and instinctively twisting his moustache. "When I was in the ranks—"
"My idea is," continued the boatswain, slightly raising his voice, "to kill two birds with one stone—prove to her that she does want being protected, and that I'm the man to protect her. D'ye take my meaning, mate?"
The soldier reached out a hand and felt the other's biceps. "Like a lump o' wood," he said, approvingly.