“Who then, sir?”
“Red Cap—Red Cap.”
“I damn Mrs Skrimmage? You lie, sir.”
And thus was the accusation bandied about the table, to the great amusement of the whole party, except the caterer, who regretted having taken any notice of what had been said.
“Really, gentlemen, this behaviour is such as cannot be tolerated,” observed Mr Skrimmage, who invariably preferred the suaviter in modo. “As caterer of this berth—”
“It is your duty to give us something to eat,” added one of the midshipmen.
“Gentlemen, you see what there is on the table; there are rules and regulations laid down, which cannot be deviated from, and—”
“And those are, to starve us. I’ve paid six-and-twenty shillings, and have not had six-and-twenty mouthfuls in the three days that I have been here. I should like to see your accounts, Mr Caterer.”
“Bravo! let’s have his accounts,” roared out several of the party.
“Gentlemen, my accounts are ready for inspection, and will bear, I will venture to assert, the most minute investigation; but it must be from those who have a right to demand it, and I cannot consider that a person who has only been in the ship for three days has any pretence to examine them.”