“He is one sure singing bird,” said another sub, a stout, overgrown boy by the name of Booth. “The nerve of him,” added Booth in admiration.
“Nerve!” echoed a young captain, “but what about the pilot's nerve?”
“Sui generis, Train, I should say,” drawled Hopeton.
“Suey, who did you say?” inquired Sally. “What's her second name? But let me tell you I could have fallen on his neck and burst into tears of gratitude. For me,” continued Sally, glancing about the room, “I don't hold with that dirt stuff at mess. It isn't necessary.”
“Beastly bad form,” said Hopeton, “but, good Lord! Your Commanding Officer, Sally! There's such a thing as discipline, you know.”
“What extraordinary thing is it that Sally knows?” inquired Major Bustead, who lounged up to the group.
“We were discussing the padre's break, Major, which for my part,” drawled Hopeton, “I consider rotten discipline.”
“Discipline!” snorted the major. “By Gad, it was a piece of the most damnable cheek I have ever heard at a mess table. He ought to be sent to Coventry. I only hope the O. C. will get him exchanged.”
The major made no effort to subdue his voice, which was plainly audible throughout the room.
“Hush, for God's sake,” warned Captain Train, as Barry entered the door. “Here he is.”
But Barry had caught the major's words. For a moment he stood irresolute; then walked quietly toward the group.
“I couldn't help hearing you, Major Bustead,” he said, in a voice pleasant and under perfect control. “I gather you were referring to me.”
“And why should I be sent to Coventry, or exchanged, may I ask?” Barry's voice was that of an interested outsider.
“Because,” stuttered the Major, “I consider, sir, that--that--you have been guilty of a piece of damnable impertinence toward your Commanding Officer. I never heard anything like it in my life. Infernal cheek, I call it, sir.”
While the major was speaking, Barry stood listening with an air of respectful attention.
“I wonder!” he said, after a moment's thought. “If I thought I had been impertinent, I should at once apologise. But, sir, do you think it is part of my duty to allow any man, even my Commanding Officer, to--pardon the disgusting metaphor, it is not so disgusting as the action complained of--to spit in my soup, and take it without protest? Do you, sir?”