"Congratulations, old man. You'll have to get your tailor to make some alteration in your uniform."
"What do you mean?" asked Terence.
Two months had elapsed since the day on which Lieutenant Aubyn had received a dangerous wound in his right side in the fight off Ostend.
He was sitting in the grounds of the Royal Naval Hospital at Chatham, having made a fairly rapid recovery.
The officer who offered his congratulations was Oswestry, the torpedo-lieutenant of the "Sunderland," who was also a convalescent, having managed to intercept a flying fragment of metal during the momentous engagement.
"Torps" flourished a newspaper with his left hand, for his right arm was in a sling.
"Stop press—Latest news and appointments," he read. "The Admiralty has approved of the following transfer. From R.N.R. to R.N.: Lieutenant Terence Aubyn, to date 3rd of June, 1915."
For a moment Terence looked incredulously at the torpedo-lieutenant. "Torps," he knew, was fond of a practical joke, but if he were playing a prank it was carrying the game a little too far.
"Here you are," continued Oswestry, noting the expression on Terence's face. "Read it for yourself."
"It's worth getting this," said Aubyn, indicating the position of his wound. "All I want now is to be afloat again."
"Young fire-eater!" exclaimed "Torps" facetiously. "Don't you worry—you'll have a look-in before The Day comes. By Jove, Aubyn, you'll have to ask the surgeon if he'll allow you to hold a fête——"
The crunching of boots upon the gravel path caused both officers to turn. Standing at attention was a Marine orderly; behind him a telegraph boy.
"Congratulations pouring in already," remarked "Torps."
Terence took the buff envelope and opened it.
"Great Scott!" he exclaimed brokenly, and without another word he handed the telegram to his companion.
"It never rains but it pours," quoted "Torps." "You'll attain Flag-rank in another fifteen years, mark my words. Lieutenant Aubyn, D.S.O."
The "wire" was a private tip from a personal friend at the Admiralty, informing Terence that His Majesty had been graciously pleased to bestow upon him the Distinguished Service Order for gallantry in bringing H.M.S. "Sunderland" out of action during operations off the Belgian coast.
"Torps" was not far short of the mark, for a D.S.O. almost invariably means a rapid promotion to the fortunate and heroic recipient.
"Flag-rank," echoed Terence. "There's plenty of time for that. Meanwhile, that's where duty calls," and with a wave of his hand he indicated the distant North Sea, on which the supreme contest for the supremacy of the waves will prove that the heritage of Nelson is still worthily upheld by Britannia's sons.