Being voted by unanimous consent "a junior," he was condemned to offices that the veriest fag in Eton or Harrow had rebelled against.

In the morning, under the pseudonym of _Mrs_.

Sparks, he presided at breakfast, having previously made tea, coffee, and chocolate for the whole cabin, besides boiling about twenty eggs at various degrees of hardness; he was under heavy recognizances to provide a plate of buttered toast of very alarming magnitude, fried ham, kidneys, etc., to no end.
Later on, when others sauntered about the deck, vainly endeavoring to fix their attention upon a novel or a review, the poor cornet might be seen with a white apron tucked gracefully round his spare proportions, whipping eggs for pancakes, or, with upturned shirt-sleeves, fashioning dough for a pudding.

As the day waned, the cook's galley became his haunt, where, exposed to a roasting fire, he inspected the details of a _cuisine_; for which, whatever his demerits, he was sure of an ample remuneration in abuse at dinner.

Then came the dinner itself, that dread ordeal, where nothing was praised and everything censured.