Fallowby suggested that they could sing after dinner, but his protest was drowned in the ringing chorus———
“Aux armes!
Formez vos bataillons!”
Around the room they marched singing,
“Marchons! Marchons!”
with all their might, while Fallowby with very bad grace, hammered on the table, consoling himself a little with the hope that the exercise would increase his appetite. Hercules, the black and tan, fled under the bed, from which retreat he yapped and whined until dragged out by Guernalec and placed in Odile’s lap.
“And now,” said Trent gravely, when everybody was seated, “listen!” and he read the menu.
Beef Soup à la Siège de Paris.
Fish.
Sardines à la père Lachaise.
(White Wine)
Rôti (Red Wine).
Fresh Beef à la sortie.
Vegetables.
Canned Beans à la chasse-pot,
Canned Peas Gravelotte,
Potatoes Irlandaises,
Miscellaneous,
Cold Corned Beef à Ia Thiers,
Stewed Prunes à la Garibaldi.
Dessert.
Dried prunes—White bread,
Currant Jelly,
Tea—Café,
Liqueurs,
Pipes and Cigarettes.
