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Updated: June 15, 2025
Bel. Well, we shall see the goodly youth your curiositie has elected, when my brother returnes, I hope. Clar. I hope soe, too; I marvill where this Cub is, He is not roaring here yet. Enter Thorogood. Bon. Tho. Ladies, I must desire your pardon for my friend: I have some busines will a while deprive him Your sweet companies. Clar. Take him away; we are weary of him. Bel. Bon.
"You can get a game of rugger when the weather is good enough to allow landing, and there's quite a decent little 9-hole golf course. Oh, you can keep fit enough." "How about the sailors are they keeping cheery?" Thorogood laughed. "They're amazing. Of course, we've got a real white man for a Skipper and the Commander, too: that goes a long way.
A young man having the appearance of a clergyman, laid his hand gently on his shoulder. "All right, Tom!" he said; "through the goodness of the Lord you're saved, and fourteen souls along with you." "Thank God!" said Tom Thorogood fervently, and, as he said so, the tide of life once more coursed strongly through his veins, and brought back the colour to his manly face.
Thorogood raised his eyes and stared out across the vast array of the Battle-fleet. Obedient to the message flashed from the Flagship a few minutes earlier, the Light Cruisers that had been invisible on the quarter now emerged from behind the curtain of the mist and were rapidly moving up to a new position. Presently the same mysterious, soundless voice spoke again: YOU ARE MAKING TOO MUCH SMOKE
"'Johnnie, get your gun, there's a cat in the garden' We're going to see Life in a minute, my lad!" He was right, but they were also destined to see Death, holding red carnival. Thorogood waved his arm and shouted an inarticulate reply as he ran aft to the hatchway leading to the cabin flat. Officers were rushing past on their way to their posts, exchanging chaff and conjecture as they went.
The two combatants, breathing hard, were leaning back with outstretched arms and legs, every muscle in their resting bodies relaxed. "Harcourt ought to win, you know," said Thorogood again. "He's just as fit and a better boxer. But he seems to be tiring.... He had a pretty tough time in the heats, I fancy." "Seconds out of the ring! Last round!" came the Chaplain's voice.
The Master-at-Arms and Sergeant-Major made their reports and Thorogood moved forward, passing briskly down the lanes of motionless figures and shiny, cheerful countenances. "Carry on," he said, and acknowledged the salute of the Chief of Police and the Sergeant of Marines.
The Midshipman caught sight of Thorogood, and raised an arm in greeting. As he did so a sudden spasm of cramp twisted his face like a mask. He relaxed his grasp of the breaker and sank instantly. The two men reappeared half a minute later empty handed, and clung to the barrel exhausted. "It's all chalked up somewhere, I suppose," spluttered James, gasping for his breath.
Soon, little Jim was sleeping as sound as a top in his crib, and Mrs Thorogood, with her knitting, joined the others at the fire, by the light of which the blacksmith made a little boat for Harry with a gully knife and a piece of stick. "It's a stormy night," said Mrs Thorogood, as a violent gust of wind came down the chimney and rattled the window-frames.
"Might as well," he said, and turning back picked up a small photograph in a folding morocco frame and thrust it half-shamefacedly into an inside pocket. As he emerged into the flat again he met Gerrard, the Assistant Paymaster, struggling into a thick coat outside the door of his cabin. "Hullo!" laughed the A.P. "Having a last look at the old home, James?" Thorogood patted his pockets.
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