“What wines have you put out for dinner?”
“Champagne, my lord; and claret, my lord; and Madeira and sherry, my lord.”
“No Burgundy, sir?”
“No, my lord; there is no Burgundy on board.”
“No Burgundy, sir! Do you dare to tell me that?”
“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 mut— of venison, my lord,” replied the cook, with his white night-cap in his hand.
“What else, sirrah?”