On the morning of his first full day in the _King Arthur_ John Lynwood enjoyed the luxury of a lie-in until a quarter-past seven. In the course of ordinary routine, he and all midshipmen not engaged in other duties would by this time have done half an hour’s physical drill on the quarter-deck; but Krame, trusting that the Snotty Walloper would be unobservant on this occasion, had sent a messenger for’ard the previous evening to tell the Physical Training Instructor that the midshipmen would not require him in the morning. Therefore, when he turned out of his hammock, John went immediately to his chest, took off his pyjamas, wrapped a towel round his middle, and pattered barefoot down to the bathroom. Here the senior midshipmen, who had already secured the shallow hip-baths, were sliding them over the tiled floor towards the cold water tap, disputing with vigour as to whose servants had brought the cans of hot water, shouting for soap, and calling down curses upon the heads of those who had presumably stolen their sponges. “Damn that marine,” Ollenor’s lazy voice was saying, “he has taken my soap again. I hid it in the corner of this locker yesterday.... Shouldn’t mind so much if he ever looked as if he used it.” John waited his turn, bathed, dressed, and went into the Gunroom for breakfast. The senior midshipmen seemed to be in good humour, the sun was shining, the coffee was hot, and John, in obedience to one of those moods of his of which it was always difficult to discover the cause, was a thousand times more cheerful than he had been on the previous night. When Prayers and Divisions were over, the Chaplain, who was also a naval instructor, came into the Gunroom to conduct School. John learned much of him before his arrival. He had hoped that the Chaplain would be a scholar, a little precious, it might be, but possessed of an ununiformed mind, more pliant than routine, simpler than discipline. He had met one Chaplain of such a kind, and had been grateful for the relief that his contrast afforded. But this man, it seemed, was above all a Wardroom officer. Ollenor summed him up: “He is always trying to bowl you out,” he said. Only Reedham, who had a good word to say for everybody, spoke in his defence. “I dare say he means well. We don’t give him much chance. We’re not exactly Padre’s blue-eyed boys, are we?” John saw at once that the Padre, when he entered, looked round him in expectation of hostility. “There you are,” said Hambling, in an aside that was intentionally audible, “he hasn’t even the decency to knock.” “Will you young gentlemen please keep silence when School has begun?” said the Padre. He looked round him. “No duster, no chalk; blackboard not in position. Who is the Senior Midshipman?” “I am, sir,” said Krame. “Then you will in future see that the Gunroom is properly rigged for School _before_ I come in.” “That will be your job, Cunwell,” said Krame abruptly.