“For a man with a war on his hands, you're very cheerful,” said Doctor Deems.
“Doctor, I never let business interfere with pleasure,” said he. “I've reversed the old rule; my home is for comfort and pleasure, and I keep business out of it except when McCarthy comes.”
Supper over, the ladies retired, and cigars were passed to the men, who remained for a smoke with the Commodore. He smoked big cigars, and always said that when he gave up smoking it would be time to give him up.
“What ship is that supposed to be?” the minister asked, looking at the golden model of a ship trimmed with flowers in the centre of the table.
“The Caroline,” said the Commodore. “She was my first ship, and a beauty—brass and mahogany trim, and every comfort—and when she was all ready I gave Delmonico an order for the best dinner he could get up. He served it in her cabin, down the bay, one beautiful afternoon. I had landed at Staten Island, and sent for my dear old mother, and showed her all over the ship. Then I h'isted the flags, and took her into the cabin and sat her down at the table opposite me. There were a number of my friends seated with us. Mother was astonished. She looked around, and says:
“'Corneel, how the devil did you do it?'”
“Mr. Vanderbilt,” said Doctor Deems, “I'm sorry, but I have to doubt your veracity.”
“What do you mean?” the Commodore demanded.
“Well,” said the Doctor, “when you sit there and tell me that your dear old Christian mother asked a question like that, it casts a doubt on the whole story.”
The Commodore lowered his cigar, and said, with a sad smile: