Chapter IV

"'ARF-PAS' SEVEN sir!"A private of Marines rapped heavy knuckles against the chest of drawers, and, seeing the occupant of the bunk stir slightly, withdrew from the cabin. For a little while longer the figure under the blankets lay motionless; then a tousled head appeared, followed by shoulders and arms.

"Gr-r-r !"said their owner. He blinked at the electric light a moment, then reached out a lean, tatooed arm for his tea. He drank it thoughtfully, and, lighting a cigarette, lay back again. His gaze travelled from the rack overhead that contained his gun and golf-clubs, down over the chest of drawers with its freight of battered silver cups, photographs, and Japanese curios, to the deck where a can of hot water steamed beside the shallow bath; finally it lit on the chair, on the back of which hung his frock-coat. Why had his servant put out his frock-coat? Was it Sunday? For a while he considered the problem.

Then he remembered.

With a grunt he hoisted himself on to one elbow and looked out of the scuttle into the gloom. It was snowing, and the reflected lights of the ships blinked at him across the water.

"Oh Lord!"he ejaculated, and buried himself anew among the blankets. Twenty minutes later, as he was sitting in his bath, the curtain across the door was unceremoniously jerked aside and a ruddy face appeared in the opening.

"No-o-el-l-l ! N-o-el !"chanted the apparition. A sponge full of water cut the caroller short, and the sounds of strife and expostulation drifting from adjacent cabins marked the trail of Yuletide greetings.

In the Wardroom the fire was smoking fitfully, each outpour being regarded with philosophic resignation by the Marine duty-servant. Him the First Lieutenant, entering at that moment, drove wrathfully on deck."Go up an' trim the cowl to the wind: don't stand there trying to mesmerise the infernal thing."

One by one the members of the Mess struggled in and seated themselves in gloomy silence. There were many gaps in the long row of chairs, for every one"spared by the exigencies of the Service"was on leave, the heads of departments being represented by their juniors, and a couple of Watch-keeping Lieutenants completing the complement.

The Young Doctor alone preserved a cheerful mien."Boy, you're as yellow as a guinea !"was his greeting to the Junior Watch - keeper (recently a sojourner on the West Coast, with a constitution to match)."How's the fever?"

The Junior Watch-keeper ascribed to the malady; a quality hitherto unrecognised by the most advanced medical science, and scanned the menu indifferently.

The belated arrival of the postman as the table was being cleared did much to brighten matters. A rustling silence, interspersed by an occasional chuckle (hurriedly repressed), presently gave way to general conversation. Pipes were lit, and the fire coated into a more urbane frame of mind. The Junior Watch-keeper was seen to transfer stealthily from a letter to his pocket something that crackled crisply. The Young Doctor and the Assistant Paymaster (hereinafter known as the A. P.) sat complacently on his chest while they explored his pockets.

"Let me - it's years since I touched a fiver . . . . And a dun from Ikey - well, I'm blessed! And a Christmas card from Aunt Selina to dear Gussie - oh, Gussie, look at the pretty angels"He hides it in his pocket--",

"He stands fizz all round at seven bells,"announced the First Lieutenant in a calm, judicial voice.

The Junior Watch-keeper didn't stand it, but fizz all round there was. The First Lieutenant read prayers on the snow-powdered quarterdeck, and then, following the immemorial custom of the Service, the Wardroom made a tour of the garland-hung mess-deck, halting at each mess to exchange the compliments of the season and to sample the plum-duff.

Properly observed, this ritual would put the normal stomach out of action for the remainder of the day. But there are discreet methods of sampling. The Day-on flopped exhaustedly on to a Wardroom settee, and proceeded to empty his cap of lumps of"figgy-duff,"cigarettes, and walnuts."Bless their hearts,"he murmured,"I love them and I love their figgy-duff, but there are limits - here, Jess !"He whistled gently, and a fox-terrier asleep by the fire rose and delicately accepted the tribute. "Number One,"continued the speaker,"you looked quite coy when they cheered you, going rounds just now."Then raising his voice he sang

"For he's a jolly good fe-ello-o-O !"

The First Lieutenant's grave face relaxed."Less of it, young fellow,"he replied, smiling. He had lost a wife and child as a young lieutenant, and something of his life's tragedy still lingered in the level grey eyes.

Then followed the popping of corks and the tinkle of glass. Even the fever-stricken one brightened."Now then,"he shouted truculently to the Young Doctor,"I don't mind if you do wish me a happy Christmas, you benighted body-snatcher."But the Surgeon was opening the piano, and as he fingered the opening bars of"Good King Wenceslas,"some one turned and smote the fire into a blaze.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The short day was fading into dusk, and the Mess sat eyeing one another sorrowfully over the tea-table. You can't drink champagne, sing"Good King Wenceslas,"and beat the fire all day.

"What price being at home now?"said the Engineer-Lieutenant, gloomily buttering a piece of bread and smearing it with treacle.

Yes, and charades, and kids, and snapdragon,"added the A.P. He mused awhile, reminiscently."Christmas is rotten without kids to buck things up."

The Day-on looked up from a book."You're right. I don't feel as if it were Christmas day - except for my head,"he added reflectively.

The First Lieutenant entered, holding a note in his hand."Look here, the Skipper wants us to have him and his missus to supper. He'll motor in, and"- he referred again to the note -"he's bringing the four youngsters - and a Christmas-tree. Wants to know if we can put up a turn for them."

In the annals of the Service had such a thing ever happened before? The Mess stared wild-eyed at one another."Crackers,"gasped the Day-on, visions of childhood fleeting through his mind."Santa Claus!"murmured the Young Doctor, already mentally reviewing his store of cotton-wool."Holly and mistletoe,"supplemented. the Engineer Lieutenant eyeing the bare walls of the Mess.

There was much to be done, but they did it somehow. The A.P. sallied forth and stole crackers from a Mission schoolroom. The First Lieutenant and Young Doctor between them fashioned a wondrous wig and beard for Santa Claus. The Junior Watch-keeper is rumoured to have uprooted (under cover of darkness) an entire holly bush from the Admiral Superintendent's garden, and their guests arrived to find the Mess transformed.

No sooner was supper over than the First Lieutenant vanished, and they entered the smoking-room to find a genuine Santa Claus, with snowy beard and gruff voice, dispensing gifts from the magic tree. There were miraculous presents for all: Zeiss binoculars for one (had he not been bemoaning the want of a pair on the bridge a fortnight before !): a wrist-watch for another (it replaced one smashed while working targets not long ago), a fountain-pen for another, a cigarette-holder for a fourth, whose tobacco-stained fingers had long been a subject of reproach from his Captain's wife.

And when the tree was denuded at last, what an ambush for lurking dragons

They were slain ultimately with a sword-scabbard by a flushed might astride the champing Junior Watch-keeper. It figured further in the tiger-shoot conducted from the howdah of an elephant - a noble beast in whose identity no one would have recognised the grey-painted canvas cover of a 3-pdr. gun, much less the Engineer Lieutenant inside it.

For the matter of that, had you seen the tiger who died, roaring terribly almost within reach of its tethered quarry (less, the bored and disgusted terrier), you would never have known the A.P. - especially as he had broken his glasses in the throes of realistic dissolution.

When it was all over, the"Skipper's Missus"sat down at the piano, and together they sang the old, memory-haunted Christmas hymns, the woman's contralto and children's trebles blending with the voices of men who at heart were ever children themselves.

The First Lieutenant didn't sing. The fire needed so much attending to.

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