down the table,
and emptied and filled again, and everybody made most eloquent speeches.
About two in the morning, when there might have been some singing, a
wise little, plain little, grey little head looked in through the open
door.

"Hurrah! Bring him in," said the Archangels; and his sais, who was very
happy indeed, patted The Maltese Cat on the flank, and he limped in to
the blaze of light and the glittering uniforms, looking for Lutyens. He
was used to messes, and men's bedrooms, and places where ponies are not
usually encouraged, and in his youth had jumped on and off a mess-table
for a bet. So he behaved himself very politely, and ate bread dipped
in salt, and was petted all round the table, moving gingerly; and they
drank his health, because he had done more to win the Cup than any man
or horse on the ground.

That was glory and honour enough for the rest of his days, and The
Maltese Cat did not complain much when the veterinary surgeon said that
he would be no good for polo any more. When Lutyens married, his wife
did not allow him to play, so he was forced to be an umpire; and his
pony on these occasions was a flea-bitten grey with a neat polo-tail,
lame all round, but desperately quick on his feet, and, as everybody
knew, Past Pluperfect Prestissimo Player of the Game.

"BREAD UPON THE WATERS"

If you remember my improper friend Brugglesmith, you will also bear
in mind his friend McPhee, Chief Engineer of the Breslau, whose dingey
Brugglesmith tried to steal. His apologies for the performances of
Brugglesmith may one day be told in their proper place: the tale before
us concerns McPhee. He was never a racing engineer, and took special
pride in saying as much before the Liverpool men; but he had a
thirty-two years' knowledge of machinery and the humours of ships.
One side of his face had been wrecked through the bursting of a
pressure-gauge in the days when men knew less than they do now, and his
nose rose grandly out of the wreck, like a club in a public riot. There
were cuts and lumps on his head, and he would guide your forefinger
through his short iron-grey hair and tell you how he had come by his
trade-marks. He owned all sorts of certificates of extra-competency,
and at the bottom of his cabin chest of drawers, where he kept the
photograph of his wife, were two or three Royal Humane Society medals
for saving lives at sea. Professionally--it was different when crazy
steerage-passengers jumpe