A belated sausage-shop
supplied me with a partially cut ham of pantomime tonnage. These things I,
sweating, bore out to the edge of the wharf and set down in the shadow of
a crane. It was a clear, dark summer night, and from time to time I
laughed happily to myself. The adventure was preordained on the face of
it. Pyecroft alone, spurred or barefoot, would have drawn me very far from
the paths of circumspection. His advice to buy a ham and see life clinched
it. Presently Mr. Pyecroft--I heard spurs clink--passed me. Then the
jersey voice said: "What the mischief's that?"
"'Asn't the visitor come aboard, Sir? 'E told me he'd purposely abandoned
the _Pedantic_ for the pleasure of the trip with us. Told me he was
official correspondent for the _Times_; an' I know he's littery by the way
'e tries to talk Navy-talk. Haven't you seen 'im, Sir?"
Slowly and dispassionately the answer drawled long on the night; "Pye, you
are without exception the biggest liar in the Service!"
"Then what am I to do with the bag, Sir? It's marked with his name." There
was a pause till Mr. Moorshed said "Oh!" in a tone which the listener
might construe precisely as he pleased.
"_He_ was the maniac who wanted to buy a ham and see life--was he? If he
goes back to the _Pedantic_--"
"Pre-cisely, Sir. Gives us all away, Sir."
"Then what possessed _you_ to give it away to him, you owl?"
"I've got his bag.
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