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Jack’s dinner party, held the following day in still-heavy weather, began in a starched, formal fashion. He had only entertained the wardroom once before, of course, and the wardroom, following his lead, had not entertained him in return. His guests therefore sat quiet and correct, the buckles in their in their rarely-worn uniforms chafing cruelly, strictly following the court etiquette of not speaking unless Commander O’Brian (the King’s direct representative) spoke to them first.
Jack found it heavy going. Having exhausted the usual types of small talk without success, he turned to alcohol as a social lubricant. “A toast,” he said, raising his glass, “to wives and sweethearts.”
“To wives and sweethearts,” the wardroom dutifully replied, raising their glasses and draining them, but nobody dared add the facetious coda.
“To smooth sailing,” he proposed, when an unexpected lurch sent a (thankfully nearly empty) bottle out of Stephen’s hand, to smash a small red stain on the painted floor cloth.
“To smooth sailing,” the wardroom dutifully replied, raising their glasses and draining them again.
“To shore leave and fresh supplies,” he proposed, once the bottle had been replaced and everyone’s glasses refilled.
“To shore leave and fresh supplies,” the wardroom dutifully replied, raising their glasses and draining them yet again.
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