"Yes." For a moment Standish assumed a thoughtful expression. Then he looked up, smiling. "What about you, Podgie? Isn't it about time you toed the line?" The King's Messenger shook his head. "No. It doesn't come my way." His eyes rested contemplatively on his outstretched leg. "Not very likely to either.... How d'you like the idea of joining up with the 'Great Silent' again after the flesh-pots and whatnot?" For the second time he had changed the conversation almost abruptly. Standish lit his pipe. "What's it like up there now?" He jerked his head in the direction in which they were travelling. "How are they sticking it? Have you been up lately? I haven't been in the Grand Fleet yet." "Yes, I was up--let's see, last week. Oh, they're all right. A bit bored, of course, but full of ginger. They go out and try to coax Fritz to come out and play from time to time. Fritz says 'Not in these trousers, I don't think,' and then they go home again, dodging 'tin fish'[1] and raking up Fritz's 'warts'[2] out of the Swept Channels. Talking of 'warts' reminds me of a yarn going round last time I was up--it's a chestnut now, but you may not have heard it. One of the mine-layers nipped down in a fog and laid a mine-field off the mouth of the Ems. It was a tricky bit of work, and it seems to have touched up the Padre's nerves a bit, because on the way back next morning, when he was reading prayers--you know the bit about 'encompassed the waters with bounds'?--he said, 'Encompassed the bounders with warts,' which was just what they had done, pretty effectively!" The door to the corridor was half-open, and a tall figure in Naval uniform who was passing at that moment glanced in, hesitated, and filled the doorway with his bulk. A slow smile spread over his face and showed his white, even teeth. It was a very infectious grin. "How goes it, Podgie?" he said quietly. The King's Messenger looked up. "Hallo!" he retorted. Then came recognition. "Thorogood, surely! Come in, old lad. What are you doing aboard the lugger-- D'you know Standish?" The new-comer nodded a greeting, acknowledging the introduction. "Station-mates in the East Indies, weren't we?" said Standish. "That's right," replied the other. "I remember you: we were both in camp together--way back in the 'Naughty Naughts.' We used to call you the India-rubber Man--Bunje for short." Standish laughed. "They do still," he said, "mine own familiar friends." "Have a drop of whisky," interrupted the King's Messenger. "'Fraid I haven't got a glass----" The visitor hesitated. "Well, I've got old Mouldy Jakes in my compartment. Can I bring him along: the old thing may get lonely. He was in your term in the _Britannia_, wasn't he?" "He was. Fetch him along," said the King's Messenger. "Standish wants to know all about life in the Grand Fleet. You two ought to be able to enlighten him a bit between you." Thorogood contemplated the India-rubber Man thoughtfully.