A Commonplace Book

   In the ballroom-sized Officer's Dining-Room, the diners had all known each other for so long, and had sat down to eat with each other so often, that conversation had been reduced to a sort of gruff Morse. If you were in on the code, a single word could do the job of an entire story.

   "Meatloaf," said Donald, one of the second officers.

   The second engineer, the electrical officer and Donalds' colleague, Vince, chuckled clubbishly, as at the end of some elaborate tale of malarkey, while the radio officer touched his mouth with his napkin and went self-deprecatingly pink. It was a tough world for a stranger to horn in on.