Sir Edgar was game, though it was doubtful if his evening clothes would weather the storm. Every little while Corbell pounded vigorously on the bar for silence and then made each man repeat rapidly the words: "United States twin-screw steel cruiser" on penalty of no more drinks for failure. Every little while, also, he detailed one or more to go make an appearance in the ballroom.
"We must prove individually and collectively our complete sobriety," he pronounced. "Sir Edgar is excused. His reputation is established."
After a time Colonel Peyton came in, courteous, old-fashioned, smiling. The room immediately fell silent, and those who were sitting or perching jumped to their feet.
"Good evening, boys, good evening," said the Colonel. "Having a good time? That's right! That's right! Pretty noisy don't object to that—but"
Corbell turned and held up his hand.
"United States twin-screw steel cruisers," a chorus answered him.
"Perfectly satisfactory, gentlemen," said the Colonel. "Your honour and the honour of the house appear to be safe as usual. Now will you honour me by drinking a little toast to the pleasure of the evening; and permit me to tell you how glad I am that you are here."
The Colonel, as beseemed a Kentucky gentleman raised in California, took a finger of bourbon in a little glass. They all insisted on clinking their glasses against his. The little ceremony consumed several minutes. Then they drank bottoms-up in silence.
"I will wish you good evening, gentlemen," then said the Colonel. "I am very glad that you are here again."
"The darn old cuss really means it," sniffled Shot Sheridan, the erstwhile silent member, suddenly becoming tearful and sentimental.
"Shot, you're drunk!" Corbell accused him severely. "Go and sit at that table. Do it!—Bill!" he said, as Sheridan showed signs of rebellion.
Bill Hunter placed his huge hand on Shot's shoulder and
