by Bartimeus
*V.*
The members of the wedding party returned to the ship and straggled intothe Mess. Each one as he entered unbuckled his sword-belt, loosened hiscollar, and called for strong waters. A gloom lay upon the gathering:possibly the shadow of an angel's wing.
"I feel as if I'd been to a funeral," growled the Paymaster. "Awfulshows these weddings are!"
"Poor old Guns!" said the A.P. lugubriously.
"She's a jolly nice girl, any way," maintained the Young Doctor.
"Yes," sighed the Junior Watch-keeper, "but still.... He _was_ a goodchap...."
The Indiarubber Man was the last to enter. He added his sword to theheap already on the table, glanced at the solemn countenances of hismessmates, and lit a cigarette.
"_Sunt rerum lachrimae_. I am reminded of a harrowing story," he began,leaning against the tiled stove, "recounted to me by a--a lady.
"We met in London, at a place of popular entertainment, and ouracquaintance was, judged by the standards of conventionality, perhapsslender." The Indiarubber Man paused and looked gravely from face toface. "However," he continued, "encouraged by my frank open countenanceand sympathetic manner, she was constrained to tell the story of how sheonce loved and lost...."
The narrator broke off and appeared to have forgotten how the story wenton, in dreamy contemplation of his cigarette. The mess waited insilence: at length the Junior Watch-keeper could bear it no longer.
"What _did_ she tell you?"
The Indiarubber Man thoughtfully exhaled a cloud of smoke. "She said:'Pa shot 'im.... Sniff!--_'Ow_ I loved 'im.... Sniff!--Lor', 'ow 'e didbleed.' ..."
