Tommy had a gray sack suit, not new, but well brushed and neat. The edges of the vest, which he insisted on wearing, were lined with black braid, and he had worked black silk triangles at the corners of the pocket slits. Tommy wore a very shiny boiled shirt, a low wing collar, a fancy butterfly tie of the very latest South Street pattern, held in place by an elastic band, and a gray felt hat. I donned my visiting clothes, and the three of us turned out in the height of perfection, scrubbed, polished, and rubbed down to the last turn; Beau Brummel, had he ever shipped deep water, would have had nothing on us. "Well, I hope you has a good time," called out Brenden as we headed aft for the gangway, just as the smelly kids from the galley were coming forward, in the hands of Fred and Tony, masses of greasy potroast unappetizing and uncouth. The mate sighted us as we went over the gangway. He stood in the shadow under the after awning giving us a thorough looking over. "Three gentlemen of Verona!" he cried after us in derision, for let it be known Mr. Zerk was something of a scholar in his way and not without a sense of inaccurate but racy humor. Glad to be clear of the ship, we headed up Nuuanu Street to King, put our helms hard to port and ran east under the shadow of the substantial concrete stores and offices, with their heavy iron shutters closed for the Sabbath day. From King Street we turned northerly into Fort Street and, with yards squared, and three abreast, we bore up to the haven in which we were to dine, as well pleased a trio of low degree mariners as ever sailed. The proprietor, swarthy, stout, and smiling, and wearing a white apron, greeted us at the door; while his wife peeked from behind a curtain in the rear, as he ushered us to a nice round table next to a window overlooking a cool shady garden. We were the only diners in this cozy room, the private parlor of mine host. The trades were blowing rather strong that day and a pleasant breeze came in through the open window. The lace curtains still linger in my memory, with other details of the feast, and I had to tuck them back, for they threatened the soup. When I say that a small vase of flowers decorated the white linen, or perhaps it was only cotton, but at any rate fresh and clean, the fine hand of Frenchy will be recognized, for, let us say so again, and if necessary, again and again, he had planned the dinner from first to last in every detail. The soup, for of course we started with soup and not with any of the exotic indigestible frippery often attempted by ambitious but ill-informed caterers, was _cold consommé!_ "Hey, wot's this?" demanded Tommy, "are we late?" "No, Tommy, you eat this cold. Try it." "Say, that's all to the all right!"