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Jack’s meal, held in the great cabin one bell later than the wardroom’s, also showed the benefits of new stores - roast leg of Achillian lamb with green beans and long-grain rice, and bottled white wine, whose cap Bollwerk unscrewed with all appropriate gravity before pouring his skipper a glass.
The meal was solitary, though, and Jack found himself daydreaming of his years in the wardroom - even his years in the midshipman’s berth. He had yet to entertain the wardroom, he realized, though he had owned the Roth for - he worked backwards through the calendar in his head, “good heavens,” he said, “three months on - on Tuesday. A quarter of a year. Bollwerk! Pass the word for Mister Greenstreet, if he is available.”
The sublieutenant was available, and when he appeared, with formal bearing and clean-pressed uniform coat for his summons to the Cabin, Jack said, “Bollwerk, a glass of wine for the lieutenant - you’ll take a glass of wine? Oh. Coffee? Light? Sweet? Bollwerk, scrub the wine, make that coffee, black and bitter.”
Once Mister Greenstreet was seated, with coffee at hand, Jack went on. “I’ve been sadly remiss,” he said, “but I hope you and the wardroom will join me for dinner tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” said the sublieutenant, and indeed he could hardly have given any other reply, save for extra-ordinary circumstances. Custom dictated that the skipper refresh his premier, which he did; and custom dictated that the premier accept the refreshment, so having already taken the rare option of declining the first refreshment offered, Mister Greenstreet could hardly now decline the invitation.
Custom also dictated that the sub-lieutenant finish his refreshment with in five to ten minutes, and in this perhaps Mister Greenstreet was unwise to decline milk, since without it his coffee was quite hot. He was saved from the choice of a scalded throat or diplomatic faux-pas by a knock on the door.
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