Pincher, nothing loath, unstrapped his other skate--one had already come off in his tumble--and followed her, but not before Parkin had hurled a final remark.
'Orl right, Mister Martin!' he said very venomously. 'I'll be even wi' you over this 'ere!'
'I'll take you on any day you likes!' Pincher threw back. 'I ain't afraid o' you, you great skinny lamplighter!'
'And I'll never speak to you again, Wilfrid Parkin,' Emmeline put in, 'Call yourself a gentleman! I don't think!' She snorted loudly to show her contempt.
'Come on, come on! Don't let's 'ave any more o' this, please!' from the manager.
'Orl right, old puddin'-face. Keep yer 'air on!' Pincher observed with a smile.
The lookers-on laughed loudly, for the manager was rather unpopular, and his face really was too fat to be pleasant.
'Pudding-face!' he gasped. 'Who are you calling pudding-face?'
'Request-men an' defaulters--'shun!' bawled the master-at-arms, as the commander passed aft along the quarterdeck and took his stand behind a small scrubbed table upon which were a pile of papers and several ponderous-looking books.
The petty officer left the line, stepped smartly forward to the table, clicked his heels, and saluted.
'Petty Officer William Weatherley,' the M.A.A.[20] went on, 'requests hextension o' leaf till two P.M. on Monday.'
The commander looked up. 'Can he be spared?' was his first question.
'Request's signed by the torpedo lootenant, sir,' the M.A.A. explained; for Weatherley, being a torpedo gunner's mate by calling, was one of Hatherley's myrmidons.
'Why d'you want this extension?' the commander asked, playing with a pencil.
'Yes, quite so. But what are the private affairs, and why are they urgent? Week-end leave expires at nine o'clock on Monday, you know.'
'I can't very well say, sir,' the petty officer said, glancing at the crowd of ship's corporals round the table. 'My reasons are rather private, sir.'
The commander left the table, beckoned the man to follow him, and walked aft out of earshot of every one else. For quite a minute they talked together, and then the officer nodded, and Weatherley, with a pleased grin, saluted and marched off.
'Request granted, master-at-arms,' the commander observed, coming back to the table. 'Next man.'