Aggett drained his glass. “The Commander hasn’t got to run the boiler-rooms,” he observed. “It would be different, wouldn’t it, sir, if the Chief Boatswain’s-mate kicked the bucket?” “Nothing to jest about.” “No, indeed.” “No, indeed,” the Commander repeated, and, picking up an illustrated paper, rattled his shirt-cuffs as he turned its pages angrily. A man appeared at the Casemate door. “Mr. Hartington ’ere, sir?” “Yes.” “Captain wishes to speak to you, sir, in the after-cabin.” Hartington rose. “Sorry, Ordith.” “All right, my dear fellow.” The Commander threw aside his paper. “Hold on a minute Hartington.... You say this stoker is going to die, Aggett?” “Probable.” “What’s his name?” “Hammond, Zachariah Peter, Stoker First Class.” “Right. I’ll just go in and tell the Captain, Hartington, before you begin your pow-wow. I shan’t be a second. Come along with me.” They went aft together, and, while Hartington waited, the Commander passed into the Captain’s quarters, and presently reappeared. “All right, Hartington. He’s waiting for you.” Hartington entered. The Captain, a tall, grave man, who, but for his beard and moustache, might well have been taken for a judge, was leaning back in an armchair, his feet thrown up on to the fender that surrounded the empty fireplace. “Ah, come in, Hartington, and sit down. You will find cigarettes on the small table.” Hartington offered him the silver box. “Will you have one, sir?” “Thanks, no; I never smoke. You light up, though. I want a few words with you.” An uncomfortable silence followed while Hartington lighted his cigarette, took an ashtray from the mantelpiece, and sat down. “Now,” the Captain said, “I want to talk to you about the Gunroom. I don’t know what your own views may be upon the treatment of midshipmen. I hope you have views. I hope you have thought the matter out. The Sub of a Gunroom, you know, holds a position of responsibility.” “Yes, sir.” “Well, what is your policy?” “Put shortly, sir, my idea is to make the Gunroom tolerable.” “You think it likely to be intolerable?” Hartington paused before he answered. He had no knowledge of the Captain’s own views on this matter. Was he of opinion that midshipmen should be shaken? Was this interview to be an intimation that the _Pathshire’s_ midshipmen were not being shaken enough? It would be dangerous to cross him. The Old School was strong, wonderfully tenacious, intolerant of heresy. It would be easy not to commit himself until the Captain’s attitude was made plain. Then he saw the Captain’s eyes watching him, but their expression conveyed nothing save enquiry and interest. He decided to take the risk. Many and many a time he had wanted to test his views by laying them before a man with long experience of the Service. He said: “A Gunroom can easily be an intolerable place, sir.” “Still? I suppose the Service doesn’t change very fast.”