Well, it certainly was "all to the all right," and real cold, in fact chilly would be the proper word. The host fluttered about; he was doing things right, and to entertain guests such as we, who knew _and demanded_ that every detail be carried out; for such appreciative guests were rare indeed in the vicinity of Fort Street, not far from Hotel. The fish course was a dainty morsel of some native species, flaky and white. It would take a connoisseur, and few of them shipped at sea in those days, to describe that meal. The roast was a fat fowl, but not too fat, a plump bird of the genus chicken. When this rare bird appeared on the table Frenchy insisted upon congratulating the cook, the proprietor's wife, who blushed with pleasure at the gracious compliments showered upon her, and the bird, with equal facility. Of course Frenchy carved. He carved exactly as he had often carved before in the long hungry night watches off the coast of North America when we first chummed together. Only now he was dismembering a real plump drumstick done to a golden brown, and not one of the imaginary mouth-watering tantalizers of the cold high seas. Dressing was there too, and mighty good, and a big dish of mealy mashed potatoes, white and satisfying. "Have some gravy," said Tommy, passing around the gravy boat, a vessel he was well able to command. We wound up with a salad of lettuce, and Frenchy mixed the dressing at the table. It will not stretch the imagination of the reader to believe that by this time our shipmate was in a highly satisfactory mood. Tommy and I were having the time of our lives, and as far as dinners go I have never enjoyed a better. Since then it has been my fortune to kick heels beneath the same table with a prince of the royal blood, to have broken bread with school-men and with men of the old world who feel themselves of noble strain; I have speared spuds with the fishermen of the north and have shared my bacon and corn pone with the niggers in the swamps of Florida; I have dined in state and have taken my chances in a college commons, but never can I remember a better or a merrier meal. Some guava tart and cream cheese, the latter served on small green leaves, and large generous plebeian cups of clear Kona coffee, completed the dinner. Our host had a surprise for us. He opened, and passed around, a box of good cigars, urging us to help ourselves to extra ones, which we did. He then took off his apron and, drawing a chair up to the table, joined our well satisfied company. We talked of all things under the heavens and upon the land and waters. More coffee was called for at intervals, and when our host learned that I had been in Horta, his native town in the Azores, a new bond of interest was established.