"Upon my soul, my lord," cried Maddox, dropping on his knees, "there is no Burgundy on board—ask the ladies."
"Very well, sir; you may go."
"Cook, what have you got for dinner?"
"Sir, a haunch of mutt—of venison, my lord," replied the cook, with his white night-cap in his hand.
"What else, sirrah?"
"A boiled calf's head, my lord."
"A boiled calf's head! Let it be roasted, or I'll roast you, sir!" cried
Pickersgill in an angry tone.
"Yes, my lord; I'll roast it."
"And what else, sir?"
"Maintenon cutlets, my lord."