"Do you spell 'conscious' with a _t_?" asked Lawless, ignoring the ironic inquiry.
"I'm afraid it's a bit smudgy," observed the author as he folded up the letter, "but I've explained that it was written in a choppy sea."
"When they look at the spelling I expect they'll think it was written in a hurricane," said the junior officer grimly.
"That's done," he murmured with a sigh of relief. "If there's such a thing as humanity in the world, I shall get my leave."
For the first few days after the despatch of the epistle Lawless alternated between hope and despondency, but when a week passed and he received no reply, he made up his mind that the authorities had declined to consider his application. However, ten days later, when he was breakfasting with Trent, there arrived an official letter with the Admiralty stamp upon it.
"It's come!" cried the Lieutenant after he had hurriedly glanced through the contents. "I knew it would."
Trent's reply was such as no respectable printer would set up in type. He had been in the act of raising a cup of coffee to his lips when Lawless gave vent to his exultant shout, and it had so startled the Sub-Lieutenant that he let fall the cup and received the boiling contents down the front of his clothes.
"Why don't you look cheerful?" demanded Lawless. "What's a little coffee at a time like this?"
"Go to the devil!" retorted the other, vainly endeavouring to sop up the coffee from his waistcoat with a silk handkerchief. "It's your holiday, not mine. And, any way, you've got it under false pretences."
"Sub-Lieutenant Trent, are you aware of the fact that you're speaking disrespectfully to your superior officer?" asked Lawless in a gently chiding tone.
"Holy Jerusalem!" suddenly yelled Trent, springing to his feet. He had just discovered from an abrupt rise in temperature about his person that the coffee had soaked through his shirt.
"I've a good mind to report you for insubordination and--and cheek," observed the Lieutenant, taking no pains to conceal his enjoyment of the other's misfortune.
"And I'll sue you for a new suit of duds, Lawless, you dismal idiot. It's all through you that I'm soaked to the skin with this confounded coffee."
A week later Lieutenant-Commander Lawless, bound for Cork _via_ Plymouth, was reclining at his ease in the comfortable little smoking-room of the _Lake Killarney_, one of the miniature liners which carry passengers to and from Ireland. Lawless had decided to spend his holiday on the west coast of the Emerald Isle, and had provided himself with golf clubs, fishing rods, and other implements of innocent sport wherewith to while away his leisure. The only thing which troubled him was his customary want of cash, and when he thought of the thousand pounds waiting to be earned, he heaved a sigh of deep regret. If only he could have brought down another Zeppelin....