Well, in due time even the puddings were discussed, and then the tables were cleared.
“Give your orders, gentlemen,” cried the president, knocking on the table. A very tall splendid-looking fellow this president was, by birth an Africander, who had come to take a medical degree in Aberdeen previously to taking up practice at Cape Town.
The orders were given.
Most of these were simple enough—the wine of the country, with hot water, sugar, and lemon.
Then right loyally all the usual toasts were given, the Queen, the army, navy, and volunteers. The volunteers was responded to in a most heroic speech by one of themselves, who had been coupled with the toast. After this, song after song was sung, and many private individuals in the room were toasted, and had to reply, which they did in speeches more or less humorous.
Not much to his delight, Sandie, as first bursar, was “let in,” as Willie called it, for a speech.
“I don’t know, gentlemen,” he began, “whether I can speak or not; I am like the Irishman who, on being asked if he could play the fiddle, replied, ‘Oh, I daresay I could, but I never tried.’”
Then Sandie warmed to his oratory, and it was universally admitted that he had made the best speech of the evening.
More songs and more speeches followed this, and so very quickly did the time fly by, that hardly anybody would believe the landlord when he came in, smiling and rubbing his hands, to announce—
“Eleven o’clock, gentlemen, if you please!”