"Well, the point I want to make is this: I just wanted to tell you that I know what a Festival should be, and the captain and I will do everything in our power to make our Casting Off as wonderful as any anywhere. "And I want to tell you that if you'll come to me with your suggestions, I'll do all I can to see that we do this thing just the way you want it done. I want you to be proud of this Casting Off Festival, so you can look back on it and say, uh, uh--this day was the real high point of your whole life!" Everyone but Joanne Marie's husband cheered. He sat glumly muttering to himself. Nestir bobbed his shiny head at them and beamed his cherubic smile. And noticed that there was a little blonde, one of the crewmen's wives, in the front row that had very cute ankles. While they were still cheering and stomping and otherwise expressing their enthusiasm and approval, Nestir walked off the speaker's platform and into the officer's corridor. He wiped his forehead indecorously on the hem of his cloak and felt quite relieved that the announcement was over with and the public speaking done. II Dinner that evening was a gala occasion aboard the ship. The steward ordered the holiday feast prepared in celebration of Nestir's announcement. And, for the officers, he broke out of the special cellar the last case allotment for Crew One of the delicate Colta Barauche ('94). He ordered the messman to put a bottle of it to the right of each plate. The captain came down from his stateroom after the meal had begun. He nodded curtly to the officers when he entered the mess hall, walked directly to his place at the head of the table, sat down and morosely began to work the cork out of his wine bottle with his teeth. "You'll spoil the flavor, shaking it that way," the third mate cautioned. He was particularly fond of that year. The captain twisted the bottle savagely, and the cork came free with a little pop. He removed the cork from between his teeth, placed it very carefully beside his fork, and poured himself a full glass of the wine. "Very probably," he said sadly. "I don't think hit'll do hit," the first mate said. "He hain't shook hard enough to matter." The captain picked up the glass, brought it toward his lips--then, suddenly having thought of something, he put it back down and turned to Nestir. "I say. Have you decided on this Carstar thing yet, Father?" The little priest looked up. He laid his knife across the rim of his plate. "It has ramifications," he said. When the third mate saw that his opinion on the wine was not immediately to be justified, he settled back in his chair with a little sigh of disapproval. "Well, what do you _think_ your decision will be, Father?" the steward asked. Nestir picked up his knife and fork and cut off a piece of meat. "Hummmm," he said. "It's hard to say. The whole issue involves, as a core point, the principle of _casta cum mae stotiti_." The first mate nodded sagely.