“About three minutes later I’m over’auled by our sub-lootenant, navigatin’ under forced draught, with his bearin’s ’eated. ’E had the temerity to say I’d instructed our Antonio to sling his carcass in the alleyway, an’ ’e was peevish about it. O’ course, I prevaricated like ’ell. You get to do that in the service. Nevertheless, to oblige Mr. Ducane, I went an’ readjusted Antonio. You may not ’ave ascertained that there are two ways o’ comin’ out of an ’ammick when it’s cut down. Antonio came out t’other way—slidin’ ’andsome to his feet. That showed me two things. First, ’e had been in an ’ammick before, an’ next, he hadn’t been asleep. Then I reproached ’im for goin’ to bed where ’e’d been told to go, instead o’ standin’ by till some one gave him entirely contradictory orders. Which is the essence o’ naval discipline. “In the middle o’ this argument the gunner protrudes his ram-bow from ’is cabin, an’ brings it all to an ’urried conclusion with some remarks suitable to ’is piebald warrant-rank. Navigatin’ thence under easy steam, an’ leavin’ Antonio to re-sling his little foreign self, my large flat foot comes in detonatin’ contact with a small objec’ on the deck. Not ’altin’ for the obstacle, nor changin’ step, I shuffles it along under the ball of the big toe to the foot o’ the hatchway, when, lightly stoopin’, I catch it in my right hand and continue my evolutions in rapid time till I eventuates under ’Op’s lee. “It was a small moroccer-bound pocket-book, full of indelible pencil-writin’—in French, for I could plainly discern the _doodeladays_, which is about as far as my education runs. “’Op fists it open and peruses. ’E’d known an ’arf-caste Frenchwoman pretty intricate before he was married; when he was trained man in a stinkin’ gunboat up the Saigon River. He understood a lot o’ French—domestic brands chiefly—the kind that isn’t in print. “‘Pye,’ he says to me, ‘you’re a tattician o’ no mean value. I am a trifle shady about the precise bearin’ an’ import’ o’ this beggar’s private log here,’ ’e says, ‘but it’s evidently a case for the owner. You’ll ’ave your share o’ the credit,’ ’e says. “‘Nay, nay, Pauline,’ I says, ‘You don’t catch Emanuel Pyecroft mine-droppin’ under any post-captain’s bows,’ I says, ‘in search of honour,’ I says. ‘I’ve been there oft.’ “‘Well, if you must, you must,’ ’e says, takin’ me up quick. ‘But I’ll speak a good word for you, Pye.’ “‘You’ll shut your mouth, ’Op,’ I says, ‘or you an’ me’ll part brass-rags. The owner has his duties, an’ I have mine. We will keep station,’ I says, ‘nor seek to deviate.’ “‘Deviate to blazes!’ says ’Op. ‘I’m goin’ to deviate to the owner’s comfortable cabin direct.’ So he deviated.” Mr. Pyecroft leaned forward and dealt the Marine a large pattern Navy kick. “’Ere, Glass! You was sentry when ’Op went to the old man—the first time, with Antonio’s washin’-book. Tell us what transpired. You’re sober. You don’t know how sober you are!”