During the silence that followed, neither wasted a second. It is no joke to wash and get into evening dress in six minutes, even with the help of a body-servant trained to do his work at high speed.
'I mean,' said Van Torp, when he was already fastening his collar, 'are you sea-sick nowadays?'
'No, sir,' replied Stemp, in precisely the same tone as before.
'I don't mean on a twenty-thousand-ton liner. Black cravat. Yes. I mean on a yacht. Fix it behind. Right. Would you be sea-sick on a steam yacht?'
'No, sir.'
'Sure?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Then I'll take you. Tuxedo.'
'Thank you, sir.'
Stemp held up the dinner-jacket; Mr. Van Torp's solid arms slipped into the sleeves, he shook his sturdy shoulders, and pulled the jacket down in front while the valet 'settled' the back. Then he faced round suddenly, like a soldier at drill.