Another was put on the table.
“I hope you will find that better, Mr Roberts,” said the captain, who really thought that what he stated had been the case.
“Yes,” replied the first-lieutenant; “for the description of wine, it’s well enough.”
“What do you mean, sir? Why, its Château Margaux of the first growth.”
“Excuse me, sir,” replied the officer, with an incredulous smile; “they must have imposed upon you.”
Captain Bradshaw, who was an excellent judge of wine, called for a glass, and pouring out the claret, tasted it. “I must differ from you, sir; and, moreover, I have no better.”
“Then I’ll trouble you to pass the port, doctor, for I really cannot drink that stuff.”
“Do you drink port, Mr Bradly?” said the captain, with a countenance as black as a thunder-cloud.
“No, not to-day; I am not well in my inside: but I’ll punish the port to-morrow.”
“So will I,” said the surgeon.