“Rather high, sir, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, I smell it here,” said Jerry, who entered into the joke.
“Indeed! Steward, remove that dish; fortunately, it is not all our dinner. What will you take, Mr Bradly?”
“Why, really, I seldom touch anything but the joint. I hate your kickshaws, there’s so much pawing about them. I’ll wait, if you please; in the meantime, I’ll drink a glass of wine with you, Captain Bradshaw.”
“The devil you will!” was nearly out of the captain’s mouth, at this reversal of the order of things; but he swallowed it down, and answered, in a surly tone, “With great pleasure, sir.”
“Come, doctor, let you and I hob and nob,” said the first-lieutenant. They did so, and clicked their glasses together with such force as to break them both, and spill the wine upon the fine damask table-cloth. Jerry could contain himself no longer, but burst out into a roar of laughter, to the astonishment of Captain Bradshaw, who never had seen a midshipman thus conduct himself at his table before: but Jerry could not restrain his inclination for joining with the party, although he had no excuse for his behaviour.
“Bring some wine-glasses, steward; and you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, but I will thank you not to try the strength of them again,” said Captain Bradshaw, with a very majestic air.
“Now, Mr Ferguson, I shall be happy to take a glass of wine with you. What will you have? There’s sherry and Moselle.”
“I prefer champagne, if you please,” answered the surgeon, who knew that Captain Bradshaw did not produce it except when strangers were at the table.
Captain Bradshaw restrained his indignation, and ordered champagne to be brought.