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Chub, Master,

Roy, A. B.,

Dick, Steward.

“What’s A.B. mean?” asked Roy, suspiciously.

“It means Able Seaman,” replied Chub. “I put it that way because it’s probably the only chance you’ll ever have of getting your A.B.”

Writing the invitation to Harry

“You don’t suppose, do you,” asked Dick anxiously, “that she’ll take that literally: about bringing any one else she wants to? She might think we meant her to bring a crowd, a bunch of girls from that school of hers.”

“Maybe we’d better change that a little,” agreed Roy.

“Well, we’ll say ‘Bring your doughnut recipe and any other one person you want to.’ How’s that?”

“All right; although, of course, a doughnut recipe isn’t a person.”

“Oh, that’s just a joke,” laughed Chub.

“Hadn’t you better label it?” asked Dick innocently. “How is she going to know it’s a joke?”

“She has more discernment than some others I wot of,” replied Chub loftily.

“Well, if she wots that that’s a joke,” muttered Dick, “she’s certainly a pretty good wotter.”

“Who’s got a stamp?” asked Chub as he finished scrawling the address on the envelop. “Thanks. What a very nasty tasting one! I wonder why the government doesn’t flavor its stamps better. It might turn them out in different flavors, you know; peppermint, vanilla, wintergreen, chocolate—”