the cooks, gentlemen.

A VOICE. Don't want to, if I can manage it.

ERROR [aside to TEREBUS]. Put on the Algerian sweets, and then we can
have ours.

TEREBUS [taking several handfuls]. We'll put these aside for perks.

[The sweets on the table, TEREBUS and ERROR retire to kitchen to have
their dinner.

ERROR. Is this my pudding? It's only an ordinary share.

[TEREBUS is too busy to reply, and further eruption is prevented by the
temporary plugging of ERROR.

Cooking, under the inspiration of Mrs. Beeton, became a fine art:

On bones we leave no meat on,
For we study Mrs. Beeton.

So said the song. On birthdays and other auspicious occasions dishes
appeared which would tempt a gourmet. Puff-pastry, steam-puddings,
jellies and blancmanges, original potages and consommes, seal curried
and spiced, penguin delicately fried, vegetables reflavoured, trimmed
and adorned were received without comment as the culinary standard rose.

Birthdays were always greeted with special enthusiasm. Speeches were
made, toasts were drunk, the supple boards of the table creaked
with good things, cook and messman vied with each other in lavish
hospitality, the Hut was ornate with flags, every man was spruce in
his snowiest cardigan and neck-cloth, the gramophone sang of music-hall
days, the wind roared its appreciation through the stove-pipe, and
rollicking merriment was supreme. On such occasions the photographer and
the biologist made a genial combination.

The dark-room was the nursery of the topical song. There, by lantern
or candle-stump, wit Rabelaisian, Aristophanic or Antarctic was cradled
into rhyme. From there, behind the scenes, the comedian in full dress
could step before the footlights into salvoes of savage applause. "A
Pair of Unconventional Cooks are we, are we," and the famous refrain,
"There he is, that's him," were long unrivalled in our musical annals.

Celebrations were carried on into the night, but no one forgot the
cook and the messman. The table was cleared by many willing hands, some
brought in ice and coal or swept the floor, others scraped plates or
rinsed out mugs and bowls. Soon, everything had passed through the
cauldron of water, soap and soda to the drying-towels and on to the
shelves. The main crowd then repaired with pipes and cigars to "Hyde
Park Corner," where the storeman, our raconteur par excellence,
entertained the smokers' club. A mixed concert brought the evening to
the grand fina