Our respective chests were at once ransacked and all the available socks brought up to complete my figure.
We had a regulation method of folding our socks, making each pair up into little ball. When my toilet was completed, I looked a bit bubbly and lumpy, but we smoothed things down as much as we could and every one said it looked fine. "It," I presume, being my figure.
Dear Mrs. Moull beamed on me with delight. Captain Moull grinned over over his good-natured, old face. But Cummings and Passow mortified me to blushes by making side-remarks about my figure, which they compared with everything unlike the virgin beauty I was supposed to represent.
The prizes were given, the Queen's Gold Medal awarded, the Duke's speech vociferously applauded, inspection and drill were over, and, while the visitors were being "regaled" at a repast, the shrill pipes of the boatswains' mates blew the call, "Rig Church!"
My heart began to beat fast. The long prepared for, but awful moment had arrived. We all got ready for our parts. The audience was seated. The band played and finally the curtain rose on, "Time Tries All."
Our audience was delightfully cordial. The Duke laughed good-humoredly and all went swimmingly until Bobby Knowles knelt at my feet and began his love scene. I think I had to "scorn him." Anyway, whatever it was, I had to rise from my chair and with an indignant gesture bide him "Begone!" It was something of that sort.
I did rise. I did throw out my arm. I did all we had rehearsed, but, in doing it by some means or other, my bosom unbuttoned and out came a pair of socks, which fell to the deck and rolled along to the feet of the Duke.
Some devilish shipmate at the back sang out,
