He stood turning the letter to his father over and over in his fingers.

"Well," said Harcourt rea.s.suringly, "it doesn't matter much, old thing, does it? I'm just going to put this in another envelope and send it off to my sister, with a note to explain. There's no harm done! I don't suppose your letter was a matter of vast importance either, was it, Billy?" He spoke lightly, in a tone of amused indifference, and turned to the locker where he kept his writing materials.

The other walked over to the stove, slowly tearing his letter into pieces.

"No," he said. "Oh, no ... none at all."

CHAPTER VI

WET BOBS

A flurry of sleet came out of the east where a broad band of light was slowly widening into day.

The tarpaulin cover to the after hatchway was drawn aside as if by a cautious hand, and the rather sleepy countenance of the Young Doctor peered out into the dawning. An expression of profound distaste spread over it, and its owner emerged to the quarterdeck. There he stood shivering, looking about him as if he found the universe at this hour a grossly over-rated place. After a few minutes' contemplation of it thus, he turned up the collar of his great coat, pulled his cap down until it gave him the appearance of a sort of Naval "Artful Dodger,"

and walked gloomily to the port gangway. The Officer of the Watch, who was partaking of hot cocoa in the shelter of the after superstructure, sighted this forlorn object.

"Morning, Pills!" he shouted. "She's called away: won't be long now."

He wiped his mouth and came across the deck to where the other was standing. "Fine morning for a pull," he observed, throwing his nose into the air and sniffing like a pointer. "Smell the heather? Lor'!

it does me good to see all you young fellow-me-lads turning up here bright and early with the roses in your cheeks."

The Young Doctor turned a gamboge-tinted eye on the speaker.

"Dry up," he said acidly.

The Officer of the Watch was moved to unseemly mirth. "Where's your crew, Pills? I don't like to see this hanging-on-to-the-slack the first morning of the training season. You're too easy going for a c.o.x, by a long chalk, my lad. You ought to be going round their cabins now with a wet sponge, shouting 'Wet Bobs!' and 'Tally Ho!' and the rest of it."

"Dry up!" was the reply.

"An even temper, boundless tact, a firm manner and an extensive vocabulary--those were the essentials of the c.o.x of a racing boat when _I_ was a lad at College. Why did they make you c.o.x, Pills?"

"'Cos I'm light," retorted the Doctor. "'Cos I'm a d.a.m.n fool," he added with a sudden access of bitterness. "Look here, Tweedledee, what about this bloomin' boat? Here I've been standing for the last five minutes--ah, there she is."

He gazed distastefully at the lower boom, where two members of the galley's crew were casting off the painter that secured the boat to the Jacob's ladder.

"Now, then," said a loud and cheerful voice at their elbows, "where's this boat we've been hearing such a lot about?" A tall, athletic figure in football shorts and swathed about with many sweaters, with a bright red cushion under his arm, stood gazing in the direction of the lower boom. "Well, I'm blowed," he said, "not alongside _yet_? You're a nice person, Pills, to leave the organisation of a racing boat's crew to." He looked round the quarterdeck. "Where're all the others? Lazy hogs! Here we are with the sun half over the foreyard and the boat not even manned."

The Surgeon eyed him severely. "You're none too smart on it yourself, Bunje. Where's Thorogood? Where's Number One? Where's Gerrard?

Where's--ah, now they're coming."

A sleepy-eyed procession, athletically clad, but not otherwise conveying an impression of vast enthusiasm in the venture, trooped up the hatchway and congregated in a shivering group at the gangway.

"When I go away pulling," said the First Lieutenant, apparently addressing a watchful-eyed gull volplaning past with outstretched wings, "when I go away pulling, I like to get straight into the boat, shove off and start right in. It's this hanging about----"

"It's Tweedledee's fault," protested the c.o.xswain bitterly. "I wrote it down last night on the slate. He's too busy guzzling cocoa to attend to his job, that's the truth of the matter. Are we all here now, anyway...?" He scanned the faces of his little band of heroes.

"Derreck!" he said suddenly. "Now, where's Derreck? Really, this is just about the pink limit. How could anyone----"

"Hullo, hullo, hullo!" The form of the Engineer Lieutenant emerged from the superstructure and came skipping towards them. "Sorry, everybody! Am I late? My perishing servant forgot to call me. And then I couldn't find my little short pants. Tweedledee, I've just been having a lap at your cocoa: the Quartermaster said it was getting cold."

"Not mine," replied the Officer of the Watch. "I've finished mine.

You've probably drunk the Commander's. He put it down for a minute----"

The face of the Engineer Lieutenant grew suddenly anxious. "Well, what about getting into the boat and shoving off? What are we all standing about getting cold for? I vote we have a jolly good pull, too. Stay away for half-an-hour or so--eh?"

The long, slim galley came at length alongside under the manipulation of the two rather apathetic members of the galley's crew, and the officers' racing crew descended the gangway and took possession of her.

"Now then," said the Young Doctor, "sort yourselves out: Number One stroke, Gerrard bow, Bunje----"

"I'm going bow," said the Engineer Lieutenant. "I pulled bow at Keyham for two years, and in China----"

"If you stand there kagging[1] we'll never get away," interposed the c.o.xswain, "and the Commander will want to know who drank his cocoa.

Bunje second stroke, James third stroke. Derreck, you're second bow, and Tweedledum third bow, and for heaven's sake sit down and stop ga.s.sing, all of you."

Thorogood leaned forward and extended a stretcher for inspection.

"How the devil am I to pull with a stretcher like this, Pills?" he demanded. "It'll smash before we've gone a yard."

"When I was at Keyham," said the Engineer Lieutenant, slopping water over the canvas parcelling on his oar in a professional manner, "we used to have stretchers made with----"

"We don't want to hear about Keyham," said the First Lieutenant, "we want to get to work. Shove the perishing thing away, James, and stop chawing your fat. If it's good for Nelson it's good enough for you."

"Do we start training in earnest to-day?" demanded the India-rubber Man, gloomily rubbing his calves. "Because I don't mind admitting that I like to start gradually. 'Another-Little-Drink-Won't-Do-Us-Any-Harm'

sort of spirit."

"We shan't start at all if Double-O Gerrard doesn't find that blessed boat-hook an' shove her off soon," retorted the long, lean third bow, speaking for the first time.

"I can't see without my gla.s.ses," complained the bow, fumbling among the blades of the oars. "Where is the bloomin' thing? Ah, here we are!"

"Shove off forward!" bellowed the voice of the c.o.xswain for the third time.

The bow leaned his weight behind the boathook against the ship's side, and the bows of the galley sheered off slowly.

"We're awa'," said the India-rubber Man, "we're awa'! Lord, 'ow lovely!"

They paddled desultorily for a few strokes. Then the bow "bucketed"

and sent a shower of icy spray over the backs of the two after oarsmen.

Their loud expostulations were followed by protests from Tweedledum.

"My oar's got a kink!" he announced lugubriously.

"Oars!" said the c.o.xswain. "Now," he said grimly, with the air of a man who had reached the limit of human patience, "I'll give you all a minute. Ease up your belts, tie your feet down, have a wash and brush up, say your prayers, spit on your hands, and get comfortable once and for all. It's the last stand-easy you'll get. We're going to pull round the head of the line if it breaks blood-vessels."

The minute pa.s.sed in invective directed chiefly against the oars, the stretchers, the crutches, the boat generally and the helmsman in particular. At the expiration of that time, however, they all sat up facing aft, with their hands expectantly gripping the looms of their oars and profound gloom on every countenance.

The c.o.xswain contemplated them dispa.s.sionately.