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plication wrongly； or had； like Simpson； botched the whole problem。
'Congratulations； Mr Hornblower；' said Keene。 'You must be proud to be alone successful among this crowd of intellectual giants。 You are half Mr Simpson's age； I fancy。 If you double your attainments while you double your years； you will leave the rest of us far behind。 Mr Bowles； you will be so good as to see that Mr Simpson pays even further attention to his mathematical studies。'
With that he went off along the 'tweendecks with the halting step resulting from his mortal disease； and Hornblower sat with his eyes cast down； unable to meet the glances he knew were being darted at him； and knowing full well what they portended。 He longed for death at that moment； he even prayed for it that night。
Within two days Hornblower found himself on shore； and under Simpson's mand。 The two midshipmen were in charge of a party of seamen； landed to act along with parties from the other ships of the squadron as a press gang。 The West India convoy was due to arrive soon； most of the hands would be pressed as soon as the convoy reached the Channel； and the remainder； left to work the ships to an anchorage； would sneak ashore； using every device to conceal themselves and find a safe hiding…place。 It was the business of the landing parties to cut off this retreat； to lay a cordon along the waterfront which would sweep them all up。 But the convoy was not yet signalled； and all arrangements were pleted。
'All is well with the world；' said Simpson。
It was an unusual speech for him； but he was in unusual circumstances。 He was sitting in the back room of the Lamb Inn； fortable in one armchair with his legs on another； in front of a roaring fire and with a pot of beer with gin in it at his elbow。
'Here's to the West India convoy；' said Simpson； taking a pull at his beer。 'Long may it be delayed。'
Simpson was actually genial； activity and beer and a warm fire thawing him into a good humour； it was not time yet for the liquor to make him quarrelsome； Hornblower sat on the other side of the fire and sipped beer without gin in it and studied him； marvelling that for the first time since he had boarded the Justinian his unhappiness should have ceased to be active but should have subsided into a dull misery like the dying away of the pain of a throbbing tooth。
'Give us a toast； boy；' said Simpson。
'Confusion to Robespierre；' said Hornblower lamely。
The door opened and two more officers came in； one a midshipman while the other wore the single epaulette of a lieutenant…it was Chalk of the Goliath； the officer in general charge of the press gangs sent ashore。 Even Simpson made room for his superior rank before the fire。
'The convoy is still not signalled；' announced Chalk。 And then he eyed Hornblower keenly。 'I don't think I have the pleasure of your acquaintance。'
'Mr Hornblower … Lieutenant Chalk；' introduced Simpson。 'Mr Hornblower is distinguished as the midshipman who was seasick in Spithead。'
Hornblower tried not to writhe as Simpson tied that label on him。 He imagined that Chalk was merely being polite when he changed the subject。
'Hey； potman！ Will you gentlemen join me in a glass？ We have a long wait before us； I fear。 Your men are all properly posted； Mr Simpson ？'
'Yes； sir。'
Chalk was an active man。 He paced about the room； stared out of the window at the rain； presented his midshipman…Caldwell…to the other two when the drinks arrived； and obviously fretted at his enforced inactivity。
'A game of cards to pass the time？' he suggested。 'Excellent！ Hey； potman！ Cards and a table and another light。'
The table was set before the fire； the chairs arranged； the cards brought in。
'What game shall it be？' asked Chalk； looking round。
He was a lieutenant among three midshipmen； and any suggestion of his was likely to carry a good deal of weight； the other three naturally waited to hear what he had to say。
'Vingt…et…un？ That is a game for the half…witted。 Loo？ That is a game for the wealthier half…witted。 But whist； now？ That would give us all scope for the exercise of our poor talents。 Caldwell； there； is acquainted with the rudiments of the game； I know。 Mr Simpson？'
A man like Simpson； with a blind mathematical spot； was not likely to be a good whist player； but he was not likely to know he was a bad one。
'As you wish； sir；' said Simpson。 He enjoyed gambling； and one game was as good as another for that purpose to his mind。
'Mr Hornblower？'
'With pleasure； sir。'
That was more nearly true than most conventional replies。 Hornblower had learned his whist in a good school； ever since the death of his mother he had made a fourth with his father and the parson and the parson's wife。 The game was already something of a passion with him。 He revelled in the nice calculation of chances； in the varying demands it made upon his boldness or caution。 There was even enough warmth in his acceptance to attract a second glance from Chalk； who…a good card player himself…at once detected a fellow spirit。
'Excellent！' he said again。 'Then we may as well cut at once for places and partners。 What shall be the stakes； gentlemen？ A shilling a trick and a guinea on the rub； or is that too great？ No？ Then we are agreed。'
For some time the game proceeded quietly。 Hornblower cut first Simpson and then Caldwell as his partner。 Only a couple of hands were necessary to show up Simpson as a hopeless whist player； the kind who would always lead an ace when he had one； or a singleton when he had four trumps； but he and Hornblower won the first rubber thanks to overwhelming card strength。 But Simpson lost the next in partnership with Chalk； cut Chalk again as partner； and lost again。 He gloated over good hands and sighed over poor ones； clearly he was one of those unenlightened people who looked upon whist as a social function； or as a mere crude means； like throwing dice； of arbitrarily transferring money。 He never thought of the game either as a sacred rite or as an intellectual exercise。 Moreover； as his losses grew； and as the potman came and went with liquor； he grew restless； and his face was flushed with more than the heat of the fire。 He was both a bad loser and a bad drinker； and even Chalk's punctilious good manners were sufficiently strained so that he displayed a hint of relief when the next cut gave him Hornblower as a partner。 They won the rubber easily； and another guinea and several shillings were transferred to Hornblower's lean purse； he was now the only winner； and Simpson was the heaviest loser。 Hornblower was lost in the pleasure of playing the game again； the only attention he paid to Simpson's writhings and muttered objurgations was to regard them as a distracting nuisance； he even forgot to think of them as danger signals。 Momentarily he was oblivious to the fact that he might pay for his present success by future torment。
Once more they cut； and he found himself Chalk's partner again。 Two good hands gave them the first game。 Then twice； to Simpson's unconcealed triumph； Simpson and Caldwell made a small score； approaching game； and in the next hand an overbold finesse by Hornblower left him and Chalk with the odd t