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“There’s nothing like a first command, is there?” said the Admiral, reading his thoughts. “You seem to have rather queer compasses, though. Better get them adjusted.”

“It’s no use, sir,” said Judson. “The gun would throw out the Pole itself. But – but I’ve got the hang of most of their weaknesses.”

“Will you be good enough to lay that gun over thirty degrees, please?” The gun was put over. Round and round and round went the needle merrily, and the Admiral whistled.

“You must have kept close to your convoy?”

“Saw her twice between here and Madeira, sir,” said Judson with a flush, for he resented the slur on his seamanship. ” It’s – it’s a little out of hand, now, but she’ll settle down after a while.”

The Admiral went over the side, according to the rules of the Service, but the Staff-Captain must have told the other men of the squadron in Simon’s Bay, for they one and all made light of the flat-iron for many days. “What can you shake out of her, Judson?” said the Lieutenant of the “Mongoose”, a real white-painted, ram- bow gunboat with quick-firing guns, as he came into the upper verandah of the little naval Club overlooking the dockyard one hot afternoon. It is in that Club as the captains come and go that you hear all the gossip of all the Seven Seas.

“Ten point four,” said Bai-Jove-Judson.

“Ah! That was on her trial trip. She’s too deep by the head now. I told you staying that topmast would throw her out of trim.”

“You leave my top-hamper alone,” said Judson, for the joke was beginning to pall on him.

“Oh, my soul! Listen to him. Juddy’s top-hamper! Keate, have you heard of the flat-iron’s top-hamper? You’re to leave it alone. Commodore Judson’s feelings are hurt.”

Keate was the Torpedo Lieutenant of the big “Vortigern”, and he despised small things. “His top-hamper,” said he slowly. “Oh, ah yes, of course. Juddy, there’s a shoal of mullet in the bay, and I think they’re foul of your screws. Better go down, or they’ll carry away something.”

“I don’t let things carry away as a rule. You see I’ve no Torpedo Lieutenant on board, thank God!”

Keate within the past week had so managed to bungle the slinging in of a small torpedo-boat on the “Vortigern”, that the boat had broken the crutches in which she rested, and was herself being repaired in the dockyard under the Club windows.

“One for you, Keate. Never mind, Juddy; you’re hereby appointed dockyard-tender for the next three years, and if you’re very good and there’s no sea on, you shall take me round the harbour. Waitabeechee, Commodore. What’ll you take? Vanderhum for the ‘Cook and the captain bold, And the mate o’ the Nancy brig, And the bo’sun tight’ (Juddy, put that cue down or I’ll put you under arrest for insulting the lieutenant of the real ship) ‘And the midshipmite, And the crew of the captain’s gig.”

By this time Judson had pinned him in a corner, and was prodding him with the half-butt. The Admiral’s Secretary entered, and saw the scuffle from afar.

“Ouch! Juddy, I apologise. Take that – er topmast of yours away! Here’s the man with the bow-string. I wish I were a staff-captain instead of a bloody lootenant. Sperril sleeps below every night. That’s what makes Sperril tumble home from the waist uppards. Sperril, I defy you to touch me. I’m under orders for Zanzibar. Probably I shall annex it!”

“Judson, the Admiral wants to see you!” said the Staff-Captain, disregarding the scoffer of the “Mongoose”.

“I told you you’d be a dockyard-tender yet, Juddy. A side of fresh beef to-morrow and three dozen snapper on ice. On ice, you understand, Juddy?”

Bai-Jove-Judson and the Staff-Captain went out together.

“Now, what does the Admiral want with Judson?” said Keate from the bar.

“Don’t know. Juddy’s a damned good fellow, though. I wish to goodness he was on the Mongoose with us.”