"Stiffy," inquired Nicky in agonised tones, "what _is_ a _blanchaille?_ Don't say it's a cod!" Stiffy devoted three hours a-week to the study of Modern Languages, but so far no _blanchaille_ has swum into his vocabulary. "I've a notion," he said after a prolonged mental effort, "that it is a sturgeon." "How big is a sturgeon?" "It's about the size of a shark, I think." "Mercy! And we have ordered a whole one each!" But their capacity was not to be taxed after all. The waiter returned, and with the nonchalant demeanour of a hardened clubman playing out an unexpected ace of trumps, laid down two plates. In the centre of each reposed a single forlorn diminutive whitebait. But it was here that Veronica Elizabeth Vereker rose to her greatest heights. She inspected her own portion and then her brother's. "Waiter," she said at last, "will you kindly take away this young gentleman's fish and ask the cook to give you a rather longer one? About three-quarters of an inch, I should say. The child"--indicating her hirsute and crimson senior--"gets very peevish and fretful if his portion is smaller than any one else's." Without a word the waiter picked up Stiffy's plate and bore it away. His broad back had become slightly bowed, and his finely chiselled legs had a warped and bandy appearance. The strain was telling. Stiffy gazed upon his sister in rapt admiration. "Nicky, you _ripper_!" he said. After this it was mere child's play to request a stout gentleman with a chain round his neck to submit the wine list--an imposing volume of many pages--and after a heated and highly technical discussion on the respective merits of Pommery and Cliquot, to order one stone-ginger and two glasses. Nicky next instructed the waiter to present her compliments to the leader of the band, and to request as a special favour that he and his colleagues would oblige with a rendering of _Shall We Gather at the River?_ The waiter returned with a reply to the effect that the _chef d'orchestre_ would be delighted. Unfortunately he had not the full score by him at the moment, but had sent along to the Café Royal to borrow a copy. Everything would be in readiness about tea-time. It was then a little after two, and it was admitted by both Nicky and Stiffy that honours on this occasion were divided. So far both sides, as the umpires say on Territorial field-days, had acquitted themselves in a manner deserving great credit; but the waiter scored the odd and winning trick a little later, in a particularly subtle manner. Age and experience always tell. Nicky, unduly inflated by early success, insisted upon Stiffy ordering a liqueur with his coffee. Green Chartreuse was finally selected and brought. "Shall I pour it into your coffee, sir?" asked the waiter respectfully. "Please," said the unsuspecting Stiffy.