"Marvellous!" The Indiarubber Man opposite feigned breathless interest in his actions, and murmured something into his cup about condemned men partaking of hearty breakfasts. "Come on, that’s enough of the ’Condemned man’! You’d better find out something about a Groomsman’s duties," said the Best Man, coming to the rescue of his principal. "Am I a Groomsman? So I am—I’d forgotten. What do I do? Show people to their seats: ’this way please, madam, second shop through on the right.’ ... Have you any rich aunts, Guns? ’Pon my word, I might get off this afternoon—you never know. ’Every nice girl loves a sailor....’ Which of the lucky bridesmaids falls to my lot? Do I kiss the bride...?" "You try it on," retorted the prospective husband grimly.’ "Can’t I kiss anybody," inquired the Indiarubber Man plaintively. "Not if they see you coming, I shouldn’t think," cut in the Paymaster from behind his paper. "Then the head waiter and I will retire behind a screen and get quietly drunk—I don’t suppose anybody will want to kiss him either: they never do, somehow. We shall drift together, blighted misogamists...." The Engineer Commander glowered at the speaker. "Suppose ye reserve a little of this unpar-r-ralleled wit——" "I will, Chief—beg pardon. But there’s something about a wedding morning—don’t you know? Screams-of-fun-and-roars-of-laughter sort of atmosphere." He looked round the silent table. "Now I’ve annoyed everybody. Ah, me! What it is to have to live with mouldy messmates, ..." and the Indiarubber Man drifted away to the smoking-room. "He ought to keep your little show from getting dull this afternoon," said the First Lieutenant. The Gunnery Lieutenant laughed. "Yes, it’s pleasant to find some one who does regard it as a joke. The only trouble is that his bridesmaid is my young sister, a flapper from school, and I know he’ll make her giggle in the middle of the service. She doesn’t want much encouragement at any time." The speaker finished a leisurely breakfast and filled his pipe. "Now then, Torps, I’m ready for you and your nine holes...." *II.* The Gunnery Lieutenant sat down and began laboriously dragging on his Wellington boots. His Best Man stood in front of the glass adjusting the medals on the breast of his full-dress coat. This concluded to his satisfaction, he picked up a prayer-book from the dressing-table— "Now, then, Guns, a ’dummy-run,’" and read; "N. Wilt thou have this woman——" "Why ’N’?" objected the prospective bridegroom. "Dunno, It says ’N’ here." "I’ve never heard a parson say ’N,’" ventured the other, "but it’s years since I saw a wedding—chuck me my braces—Well, go on." The Best Man continued. "I know that part. That’s the ’I will’ business,—by the way, where’s the ring? Don’t, for Heaven’s sake, let it out of your sight—are my trousers hitched up too high...?" "No, they’re all right. Then you say: ’I, N, take thee, N——’"