"'That don't make no difference, Cap'n, what kind of clo'es you come in. We dine at eight o'clock.'
"Of course I knew I couldn't go, and I didn't want 'em to think I intended to go when I didn't, so I says, rather positive-like:
"'Very much obliged, gentlemen, but I guess I'll have to get you to count me out this time.' I knowed I warn't fittin' to sit at anybody's table, especially if that old Admiral was comin'.
"The Colonel see I was in earnest, and he stepped up, quick-like, and laid his hand on my shoulder.
"'Captain Brandt,' he says, 'we ain't worryin' 'bout your clo'es, and don't you worry. You can come in your shirt, you can come in your socks, or you can come without one damned rag—only come!'"
The Captain stopped, shook the ashes from his cigar, slowly raised himself to his feet, and reached for his hat.
"Did you go, Captain?" I asked.
The Captain looked at me for a moment with one of those quizzical glances which so often light up his face when something amuses him, and said, as he blew a cloud of smoke to the ceiling:
"Well, I didn't forget my manners. When it got dark—dark, mind ye—I went up and sat on the piazza and had a smoke with 'em—Admiral and all. But I didn't go to dinner—not in them pants."