"Quite right, quite right," said Capsicum. "No market in these country places. Sorry, gentlemen, there's so little variety just now." The speakers exchanged winks. The game was now fairly opened; a hoax had already commenced, and Barnacles was the destined victim. "Well," said another commissary, "I can always make a good dinner off beef." Barnacles, it was clear, had now received the desired impression. Beef, he fully understood, was to be the staple of our dinner; and he accordingly stowed with beef. In fact, he did wonders; cleared plate after plate of boiled beef. At length, having stowed till he could stow no more, he sat back in his chair pompously and complacently. A mild perspiration bedewed his forehead; and the damask of his cheeks had given place to a rosy suffusion of the whole countenance. The fingers of his two hands were interlaced over his stomach, while his thumbs stood erect, meeting in a point. "Mr Barnacles, I beg ten thousand pardons. Pray give me leave to send you a little more beef." "Much obleeged, sir; not a morsel more. Never made a better dinner in my life." "Sure you won't, Mr Barnacles? Just a shave from this end, with a morsel of fat." "Thank you, sir, kindly--I couldn't. Must beg you to excuse me. Much obleeged. Not a morsel more."--Table cleared. Fresh plates! more knives and forks! Now it was, in reality, that the dinner began;--enormous sirloin, spitting with volcanic heat; roast fowls, that would have softened the hardest heart; elegant hind-quarter of mutton; pretty little fillet of veal; tongue, ham, boiled turkey, &c. Behold, a new feature in the game! Barnacles wasn't beat yet. In the attempt to hoax Barnacles, allowance had not been made for his gastronomic powers, and previous privations. Never mind. The more sport. "Mr Barnacles, a slice of the sirloin. Upper cut, or under cut?" Barnacles, at the sight of the good things before him, contrary to all calculation sat up with renewed vigour, and paused ere he replied. "Why, if I do take anything more, I think it must be a small slice of this mutton." Barnacles helped himself. A small slice! Why, if he didn't cut away into the hind quarter, slice after slice, till he had sunk a regular well. Then spooned out the gravy. "Give Mr Barnacles the currant jelly. Mr Gingham, we owe that to you." "Plenty more at your service, sir," said Gingham; "got three or four dozen jars. Always bring some when I visit headquarters. Got it in Berkley Square."