The Marshal. It was a highly coloured piece of fireworks.
The Admiral. Well, it was all prepared and written down days before the fight was fought. I heard this from a sure source, from someone, in fact, who had seen the manuscript and had afterwards caught sight of the Imperial one rehearsing it before a looking-glass. Whatever might have happened, the speech would have been the same, even if we had returned into harbour with only one ship—and there was a time when I thought we should hardly be able to do even that.
The Marshal. I wonder what would have happened to him if he had not been able to deliver the speech at all.
The Admiral. He would have burst himself.
The Marshal. Yes, that is what would have happened to him.
The Admiral. Well, anyhow, the beer is good here.
The Marshal. Oh, yes, the beer is all right.
THE ONLY WAY.
Judkins was the last man in the world one would have expected to meet in the fashionable costume of the day. To begin with, he was well over age. And then he was on the quiet side, usually looking for some odd, old thought which had gone astray, and possessed of one of those travelling mentalities which take note of all sides of a subject. Yet there he stood in khaki.