Before he returned to the _Knat_ Lawless gloomily wrote a "chit" wherein he assigned to the skipper of the _Cotswold_ his entire salary for the ensuing month. CHAPTER VI PRISONER OF WAR One bright and cheerful summer morning Lawless sat in his favourite attitude on the bridge-rail of the _Knat_ contemplating the distant coast-line with a far-away expression in his eyes. Despite the official regulations concerning the uniform to be worn by naval officers when on duty, his present attire left much to be desired. It consisted chiefly of blue serge trousers, a battered shooting cap, and a pink-striped pyjama jacket. "I wonder," murmured the Lieutenant dreamily, "whether I could get short leave of absence. I'm just spoiling for a spell ashore and a mild bust-up." Sub-Lieutenant Trent, who was standing near, volunteered no comment. "I haven't been feeling very well lately," continued Lawless, "and I think I need a change." "Rot!" ejaculated Trent rudely. "I never saw a man look in better health in my life. You're as fit as a fiddle." Lawless slowly shook his head. "I've been suffering from internal pains," he said gloomily. "Very likely you haven't noticed, but it's a fact all the same." "Internal humbug," grumbled the unsympathetic junior. "And if you have," he added, "what can you expect after eating tinned lobster, Welsh rarebit, and cold pork for supper?" "That," replied Lawless decisively, "wouldn't upset an infant. No, I shall put in an application for sick leave." That same afternoon Lawless sat down in his little cabin and prepared to concoct a letter setting forth his ailments and the imperative necessity for a holiday in consequence. It took about two hours and a tremendous expenditure of ink and paper to write, and when finished was calculated to impress the reader with the belief that the unfortunate officer was suffering from every fatal malady known to medical science. He had just concluded this literary effort and was re-reading it carefully in order to dot the i's, cross the t's, and make needed repairs to the spelling, when the door opened and Trent's head appeared in the aperture. "Hullo!" he exclaimed, "still at it?" "Do you spell 'conscious' with a _t_?" asked Lawless, ignoring the ironic inquiry. "No, you ass, of course not." "I'm afraid it's a bit smudgy," observed the author as he folded up the letter, "but I've explained that it was written in a choppy sea." "When they look at the spelling I expect they'll think it was written in a hurricane," said the junior officer grimly. Lawless took no notice of the jibe. "That's done," he murmured with a sigh of relief. "If there's such a thing as humanity in the world, I shall get my leave."