'Ave I?"
"You've 'ad all that's good for you," said Tom Wessels, as the Red Marine
sat cross-legged on the floor.
"There are those 'oo haven't 'ad a thing yet!" cried a voice by the door.
"I will take this _Archimandrite_" I said, "and this Marine. Will you
please give the boat's crew a drink now, and another in half an hour if--
if Mr.----"
"Pyecroft," said the square man. "Emanuel Pyecroft, second-class petty-
officer."
"--Mr. Pyecroft doesn't object?"
"He don't. Clear out. Goldin', you picket the hill by yourself, throwin'
out a skirmishin'-line in ample time to let me know when Number One's
comin' down from his vittles."
The crowd dissolved. We passed into the quiet of the inner bar, the Red
Marine zealously leading the way.
"And what do you drink, Mr. Pyecroft?" I said.
"Only water. Warm water, with a little whisky an' sugar an' per'aps a
lemon."
"Mine's beer," said the Marine. "It always was."
"Look 'ere, Glass. You take an' go to sleep. The picket'll be comin' for
you in a little time, an' per'aps you'll 'ave slep' it off by then. What's
your ship, now?" said Mr. Wessels.
"The Ship o' State--most important?" said the Red Marine magnificently,
and shut his eyes.
"That's right," said Mr. Pyecroft. "He's safest where he is. An' now--
here's santy to us all!--what d'you want o' me?"
"I want to read you something."
"Tracts, again!" said the Marine, never opening his eyes.
Pages:
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52