“How about your tickets, sir?”
Pennington would have resented this catechism from any other petty officer, but from Mr. Keegan somehow it did not seem an impertinence. He had always been interested in his welfare.
“The agent was to have my ticket for me at ten, Keegan,” said Pennington. “Why?”
“Nothing sir,” said Mr. Keegan, with admirable unconcern, “except the master-at-arms and me knows of a certain lady as would like to go with you, sir, if you cared about takin’ her.”
Pennington looked bewildered; but Morgan, who had been listening with increasing astonishment, realised the purport of this intelligence at once. He grasped Mr. Keegan’s hand excitedly.
“Tell her Mr. Pennington will take her, Keegan; of course he will.”
“Shut up, Morgan!” said Pennington, beginning to pace the floor, while Mr. Keegan spat demurely into a convenient flower-vase, and waited. Finally Pennington faced him abruptly.
“Who told you this, Keegan?”
“The lady herself told—”
“What lady?”