“Degustibus non est disputandum,” observed Thompson.
“Very true,” said the marine officer, looking sapiently. “That remark of yours about the winds is opposite. We ought to dispute their entrance, as you said in Latin. But is it quite fair, my dear doctor, for you and me to converse in Latin? We may be taking an undue advantage of the rest of the company.”
“Greek! Greek!” said the purser.
“Ay, certainly—it was Greek to Mr Smallcoates,” muttered Thompson.
“To be sure it was,” said the innocent marine. “Major Flushfire,” continued he, once more upon his legs, “may I again entreat the honour of your attention. Dr Thompson has just proved by a quotation from a Greek author, Virgil or Paracelsus, I am not certain which, that the entrance of the night air into a hot room is highly injurious, and in—in—and all that. You understand me perfectly—would it be asking too much to have all the windows closed?”
“Ovens and furnaces!” cried out the chairman, starting up. “Look at me and worthy Dr Thompson. Are we persons to enjoy a repetition of the Black Hole of Calcutta? The sangaree, Quasha—suffocation! The thought chokes me!” and he recommenced his devotions to the sangaree.
“It melts me,” responded the doctor, swabbing his face with the napkin.
“Are you afraid of taking cold?” said the purser to Mr Smallcoates.
“Taking cold—let the gentleman take his wine,” said the major.
“I must confess I am not so much afraid of cold as of fever. I believe, major, you have been three years in this very singularly hot and cold climate. Now, my dear sir, may I tax your experience to tell us which is the better method of living? Some say temperance, carried out even to abstemiousness, is the safer; others, that the fever is best repelled by devil’s punch, burnt brandy, and high living. Indeed, I may say that I speak at the request of my messmates. Do, major, give us your opinion.”