X. HIS CHANCE
‘I SAY, Davies,’ I said, ‘how long do you think this trip will last? I’ve only got a month’s leave.’
We were standing at slanting desks in the Kiel post-office, Davies scratching diligently at his letter-card, and I staring feebly at mine.
‘By Jove!’ said Davies, with a start of dismay; ‘that’s only three weeks more; I never thought of that. You couldn’t manage to get an extension, could you?’
‘I can write to the chief,’ I admitted; ‘but where’s the answer to come to? We’re better without an address, I suppose.’
‘There’s Cuxhaven,’ reflected Davies; ‘but that’s too near, and there’s—but we don’t want to be tied down to landing anywhere. I tell you what: say “Post Office, Norderney”, just your name, not the yacht’s. We may get there and be able to call for letters.’ The c
