"Mr President, sir, I object—this Officer's unladylike conversation."
"Round of port—fine him!" interrupted several laughing voices.
"Go on, Doc.; what next?"
"Fish: 'Mullets.'"
"Main drain loungers," from the Junior Watch-keeper. "Isn't he a little Lord Fauntleroy—two rounds of port!"
"Entree: Russian Kromeskis——" A roar of protest.
"And——?"
"Mutton cutlets."
"Goat, he means. What an orgie! Go on; fain would we hear the worst, fair chirurgeon," blathered the Paymaster. "Joint?"
"Joint; mutton or——"