He had got out of his bunk that day at the wrong side perhaps, but when he saw McTavish arrayed in the tartan of his clan, he pretended to be startled, stepped back a pace or two and looked at him up and down.
"Is this the twentieth century?" he cried, "and do you mean to say that the captain will allow one of his officers to go on shore dressed in that uncivilized semi-savage costume?"
Then suddenly pretending to be heroic, "Oh, I forgot the romance of Walter Scott," he said.
"Ne'er in battle-field beats heart more brave, Than that which beats beneath the Scottish kilt."
McTavish laughed. But Sneyd sneered. His shot hadn't hit the bull's eye.
"I suppose," he said, "like most Scots that join our Service, you're the only gentleman in your family, Mr. McTavish." This was mean, for the doctor's family were really only honest crofter folk.
"That's hitting beneath the belt," cried the engineer.
"The reason being," said McTavish quietly, "that there wasn't even one gentleman in Sneyd's family."
But McTavish wasn't quite done with little Sneyd.
"Well, doctor," replied the A.P., conscious now that he had gone too far, "just nine stone."
"Pooh! that's nothing. I can put up 200 lbs." And before Sneyd knew what was up, the surgeon had seized him by the collar of his upper garments and stood erect holding the little man straight over the sea.
"For God's sake let me down. Lower me. Lower me. I apologise!"
"Do you see the blue shark that has been following our ship for days?"' cried McTavish.
"I see the blue devil. Do lower me, for mercy's sake."
Next moment the doctor stood him on the deck.
He did apologise now, and all was forgiven.
"Lower me," he had shouted while suspended over the sea, and everyone admitted that on the whole he had been lowered considerably. Yet Sneyd when not in the pet was really one of the best little men in the ship.
But about this night on shore? Well, in due course Kep came on the stage, most takingly dressed in the uniform of a middy of the Merchant Service.
He seemed to see no one, and probably he didn't; but he told his story--that tragedy of the sea which now was improved by appropriate scenery--the lantern.
His performance received round after round of applause, and when he returned with his piccolo, and said laughing, "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm going to play you the very Sonata from Wagner, with which I used to charm the snakes," the cheering was renewed. He was recalled three times.