"
"Yesh," I gasped from the dinghy's coal-dust. "Are you member Torquay
Yacht Club?"
"Hell!" said the first lieutenant, and fled away. The _Cryptic's_ boat was
already at that cruiser's side, and semaphores flicked zealously from ship
to ship. We floated, a minute speck, between the two hulls, while the
pipes went for the captain's galley on the _Devolution_.
"That's all right," said Moorshed. "Wait till the gangway's down and then
board her decently. We oughtn't to be expected to climb up a ship we've
sunk."
Pyecroft lay on his disreputable oars till Captain Malan, full-uniformed,
descended the _Devolution's_ side. With due compliments--not acknowledged,
I grieve to say--we fell in behind his sumptuous galley, and at last, upon
pressing invitation, climbed, black as sweeps all, the lowered gangway of
the _Cryptic_. At the top stood as fine a constellation of marine stars as
ever sang together of a morning on a King's ship. Every one who could get
within earshot found that his work took him aft. I counted eleven able
seamen polishing the breechblock of the stern nine-point-two, four marines
zealously relieving each other at the life-buoy, six call-boys, nine
midshipmen of the watch, exclusive of naval cadets, and the higher ranks
past all census.
"If I die o' joy," said Pyecroft behind his hand, "remember I died
forgivin' Morgan from the bottom of my 'eart, because, like Martha, we
'ave scoffed the better part.
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