“Well, try and think it’s someone else’s—just for once,” suggested the midshipman.
“I’ll try, sir,” agreed the man lugubriously. “But don’t count too much on it, sir!”
In a locker in the captain’s cabin, Wilson discovered a gramophone and a number of records, while an examination of the mate’s quarters resulted in finding a somewhat battered accordion.
“We’ll have a bit o’ music, sir,” declared the coxswain, who was entering into the spirit of the thing with enormous enthusiasm. “Nothin’ like a spot o’ music to liven things up like. I was reckoned a bit of a specialist with the accordion once, sir,” he added modestly. “Maybe I can twiddle the ivories and make the old thing speak yet!”
With that he raised the instrument at arm’s length above his head and prepared to crash into melody—or discord.
But neither was forthcoming. Once extended the accordion refused to close.
“ ‘Ere! this isn’t the First of April—it’s Christmas Day!” exclaimed the coxswain, addressing the soundless instrument. “Come now, don’t be narky. Let’s see what a little gentle persuasion will do!”
Using considerable force, Wilson attempted to compress the instrument. As he did so the bellows burst, emitting a white powder that gave him the appearance of a pierrot.
Kenneth exploded with laughter, but almost immediately he grew grave.
“Shove your head in a bucket of water as sharp as you can, Wilson!” he said.