"Now then, Torps, I'm ready for you and your nine holes...."
II.
The Gunnery Lieutenant sat down and began laboriously dragging on his Wellington boots. His Best Man stood in front of the glass adjusting the medals on the breast of his full-dress coat. This concluded to his satisfaction, he picked up a prayer-book from the dressing-table—
"Now, then, Guns, a 'dummy-run,'" and read; "N. Wilt thou have this woman——"
"Why 'N'?" objected the prospective bridegroom.
"Dunno, It says 'N' here."
"I've never heard a parson say 'N,'" ventured the other, "but it's years since I saw a wedding—chuck me my braces—Well, go on." The Best Man continued.
"I know that part. That's the 'I will' business,—by the way, where's the ring? Don't, for Heaven's sake, let it out of your sight—are my trousers hitched up too high...?"
"No, they're all right. Then you say: 'I, N, take thee, N——'"
"More N's. We can't both be N—must be a misprint...." He seized the book. "Have I got to learn all that by heart? Why don't they have a Short Course at Greenwich, or Whaley, or somewhere, about these things. "I, 'N,' take thee, 'N'"—he began reading the words feverishly.