Pigeon asked the gun-room officers whether he ought to accept the invitation.
“Certainly, it will be an insult if you don’t,” was the answer.
They might possibly have suspected that a joke was brewing, but they said nothing. The dinner-hour on the next day arrived. The berth was kept as dark as possible, and when Pigeon presented himself at the door he was ushered in in due form, and with unusual politeness handed to the upper end of the berth.
“Dinner!” cried the caterer. “Bear a hand, boy.”
The midshipman’s boy, who had been standing against the door, grinning from ear to ear, had to decamp.
“Before the soup comes, Mr Pigeon, let me introduce our other guests—Señor Don Bruno, who is on your right side, and Monsieur de Querkerie, whom you will find on your left. Manners makes the man, and as their manners are unexceptionable, I hope that you will consider them as men, and treat them, as men should men, with due civility.”
The screens by the side of the berth were at this instant withdrawn, when Pigeon beheld a bear sitting on one side of him, and a monkey on the other, both dressed with huge shirt-collars, large ties, and broad ribbons across their breasts. Astonishment, rage, and fear struggled within for the mastery.
“Don’t be alarmed at their looks, my dear sir,” said Hemming. “There are no better behaved gentlemen on board. Allow me to help you to soup. Rogers, you take care of Monsieur de Querkerie; Thompson, see to Don Bruno.”
This was a necessary caution, for the monkey gave signs that he was about to thrust his paw into Pigeon’s plate, which act would have belied the assertion just made in his favour, and would certainly not have been pleasant to the human guest. Bruin, who had a handful of hard biscuit before him to munch, was behaving himself very well. Hemming kept serving out the soup with the greatest gravity amid roars of laughter, not a little increased by Pigeon’s perplexed countenance. What to do he could not decide. He felt that a joke was being played off on him, but he was too much afraid to resent it, or show his indignation, and therefore he did the very best thing he could have done under the circumstances, he went on eating his soup without speaking. All might have ended well had not Quirk, not understanding fully the proprieties of the dinner-table, darted out his paw and seized a lump of potato from the soup-plate. Pigeon could not stand this, but shoving the denied plate from him, he made a dash with his spoon at Quirk’s face, almost knocking some of his teeth down his throat. The monkey retaliated, and not without Jack’s utmost exertions could quiet be restored; I will not say peace or harmony, because that was out of the question.
“I beg pardon, Mr Pigeon, we thought you might like the companionship of our foreign guests, as you are supposed to have some qualities in common,” said Hemming, in a grave tone. “But as you do not appear to admire their society, pray remove to the other side of the berth, where you will be more at your ease.”