"Anyhow, you shall see it done this time."

Hamilton, beautifully shaved, gave Captain Giles a curt nod, but didn't
even condescend to raise his eyebrows at me; and when he spoke it was
only to tell the Chief Steward that the food on his plate wasn't fit
to be set before a gentleman. The individual addressed seemed much too
unhappy to groan. He cast his eyes up to the punkah and that was all.

Captain Giles and I got up from the table, and the stranger next to
Hamilton followed our example, manoeuvring himself to his feet with
difficulty. He, poor fellow, not because he was hungry but I verily
believe only to recover his self-respect, had tried to put some of that
unworthy food into his mouth. But after dropping his fork twice and
generally making a failure of it, he had sat still with an air of
intense mortification combined with a ghastly glazed stare. Both Giles
and I had avoided looking his way at table.

On the verandah he stopped short on purpose to address to us anxiously
a long remark which I failed to understand completely. It sounded like
some horrible unknown language. But when Captain Giles, after only an
instant for reflection, assured him with homely friendliness, "Aye, to
be sure. You are right there," he appeared very much gratified indeed,
and went away (pretty straight, too) to seek a distant long chair.

"What was he trying to say?" I asked with disgust.

"I don't know. Mustn't be down too much on a fellow. He's feeling pretty
wretched, you may be sure; and to-morrow he'll feel worse yet."