When I came aboard Frenchy and Tommy were there to meet me. They had seen the proprietor of a little restaurant on Fort Street a few doors north of Hotel. A table had been reserved for Sunday, at one o'clock, and the final specifications of that dinner minutely laid down. Frenchy was enthusiastic. I would now see what a real dinner was like; I was to tell him frankly if it was not better than the dinners I had had ashore with my friends. The proprietor, a Portuguese, was a man of taste ready to welcome us as friends of Nigger; his wife was to cook the dinner herself. Clean white tablecloth, napkins, and everything right, had been ordered by Frenchy. We did not tell the rest of the crowd forward of our plans, for like enough they would only ridicule the idea. As a matter of fact it did seem like an extravagance, but we were having so much fun out of it before we ever came to the actual disposition of the dinner, that it was well worth the sacrifice entailed. "A man likes to have things good once in a while," was the justification of Frenchy. Sunday morning, after the washdown, which was always particularly thorough on that day, lasting an hour or so longer than usual, we partook of a very light breakfast. We then shaved carefully, that is, Tommy and I did, and got out our best clothes, brushing them with great care. "Are you going riding today?" asked Martin with a grin. "No, Mart, I expect to dine at the Palace with President Dole." "Is Tommy and Frenchy going with you?" "You guessed it. By special invitation, Mart, Tommy and Frenchy have been asked up to dine and to advise the President as to the cut of his whiskers. Some say he should shave like Tommy, on account of the heat, others contend he should let them grow like Frenchy, on account of the mosquitoes; so you see he is asking us up to dinner in order to settle the matter," at which both Tommy and Frenchy expanded perceptibly, and Mart, muttering "Rats," went out on deck to escape the jibes of the crowd. It was certain that something unusual was up, but after the manner of a free fo'c'sle, the men kept their own counsel, only such goats as the wood-turner Martin having the crust to edge in. Frenchy broke out his best--a blue suit, very square cut in the shoulders, double breasted, and of substantial cloth, rather heavy, but undoubtedly good. He told me proudly that it had been made to order in Dunkirk two years before when he was home on a visit. He also polished the leather visor on his blue cloth cap, a petty officer's cap, a relic of the old days in the navy. Of course Frenchy had on a stiff white shirt, one with a very small bosom, which made it necessary for him to keep his coat buttoned, for he decided not to wear a vest. This shirt was a work of art, hand made by sister Madeleine, and having collar and cuffs attached. In place of a tie he wore a loosely knotted scarf of black silk.