Towards the end of the meal he attempted retreat, pretending that he
wanted to fetch something, but the Colonel, who was watching him over
the top of the pink page of the "Globe," intervened promptly.

"If you have a few minutes to spare, my dear boy, I should like to have
a chat with you," he said.

"Certainly, father," answered the dutiful Morris; "I am at your
service."

"Very good; then I will light my cigar, and we might take a stroll
on the beach, that is, after I have seen the cook about the dinner
to-night. Perhaps I shall find you presently by the steps."

"I will wait for you there," answered Morris. And wait he did, for a
considerable while, for the interview with the cook proved lengthy.
Moreover, the Colonel was not a punctual person, or one who set an undue
value upon his own or other people's time. At length, just as Morris was
growing weary of the pristine but enticing occupation of making ducks
and drakes with flat pebbles, his father appeared. After "salutations,"
as they say in the East, he wasted ten more minutes in abusing the cook,
ending up with a direct appeal for his son's estimate of her capacities.

"She might be better and she might be worse," answered Morris,
judicially.

"Quite so," replied the Colonel, drily; "the remark is sound and applies
to most things. At present, however, I think that she is worse; also
I hate the sight of her fat red face. But bother the cook, why do you
think so much about her; I have something else to say."