"Too full already," was the graceful response. "I'm just waiting—waiting till the clouds roll by, so to speak."
The two interlocutors eyed each other speculatively.
"Did you have any dessert?" asked one.
"No," was the sorrowful reply. "My extra-bill's up."
Thereupon they rose together and fell straightway upon the juggler. An equal division of the spoil was made while they sat upon his prostrate form, and eaten to the accompaniment of searching prods into their victim's anatomy.
"Bosh, you ought to be jolly grateful to us, really. You'd probably have appendicitis if we let you eat all this—phew! Mally, just feel here…. Isn't he a hog! …"
"Just like a blooming drum," replied the other, prodding judicially.
Over their heads the tireless voice of the gramophone trumpeted forth its song. The Sub who had kept the Middle Watch the night before, slept the sleep of the tired just. The door opened and a Junior Midshipman entered hot-foot. "Letters," he shouted. "Any letters to be censored? The mail's closing tomorrow morning."
"Yes," replied the two correspondents at the table, simultaneously bringing their letters to a close.
"Hurry up, then," said the messenger. "The Padre's waiting to censor them. He sent me along to see if there were any more."