“But I have been in the ship three weeks,” said another, “and have paid you one pound sixteen shillings. I have a right, and now I demand them—so let us have the accounts on the table, since we can get nothing else.”
“The accounts—the accounts!” were now vociferated for by such a threatening multitude of angry voices, that Mr Skrimmage turned pale with alarm, and thought it advisable to bend to the threatening storm.
“Steward, present the gentlemen’s respects to Mrs Skrimmage, and request that she will oblige them by sending in the mess account-book. You understand—the gentlemen’s respects to Mrs Skrimmage.”
“Damn Mrs Skrimmage,” again cried out one of the midshipmen, and the game of goose was renewed with the phrase, until the steward returned with the book.
“Mrs Skrimmage’s compliments to the gentlemen of the gun-room mess, and she has great pleasure in complying with their request: but, in consequence of her late indisposition, the accounts are not made up further than to the end of last month.”
This was the plan upon which the wily clerk invariably acted, as it put an end to all inquiry; but the indignation of the midshipmen was not to be controlled, and as they could not give it vent in one way, they did in another.
“Gentlemen,” said one of the oldest of the fraternity, imitating Mr Skrimmage’s style, “I must request that you will be pleased not to kick up such a damned row, because I wish to make a speech: and I request that two of you will be pleased to stand sentries at the door, permitting neither ingress nor egress, that I may ‘spin my yarn’ without interruption.
“Gentlemen, we have paid our mess-money, and we have nothing to eat. We have asked for the accounts, and we are put off with ‘indisposition.’ Now, gentlemen, as there can be no doubt of the caterer’s honour, I propose that we give him a receipt in full.”
“And here’s a pen to write it with,” cried out another, holding up the sleeve-board, with which they had been playing the game.
“Then, gentlemen, are you all agreed—to cobb the caterer?”