A
pen was in his lax fingers, while upon the table and littering the
floor were many sheets of paper, some half covered with close writing,
some crumpled and torn, some again bearing little more than a name;
but in each and every case the name was always the same. Thus, John
Peterby, seeing this drooping, youthful figure, sighed and shook his
head, and went out, closing the door behind him.
"Is that you, John?" inquired Barnabas, with bowed head.
"No, sir, axing your pardon, it be only me, Jerry Tucker, Bo'sun,
--'Bully-Sawyer,' Seventy--"
"Bo'sun!" With the word Barnabas was upon his feet. "Why, Bo'sun,"
he cried, wringing the sailor's hand, "how glad I am to see you!"
"Mr. Beverley, sir," began the Bo'sun, red-faced and diffident by
reason of the warmth of his reception, "I've come aboard with
despatches, sir. I bring you a letter from his Honor the Cap'n, from
'er Grace the Duchess, and from Lady Cleone, God bless her!"
"A letter from--her!" Then taking the letters in hands that were
strangely unsteady, Barnabas crossed to the window, and breaking the
seal of a certain one, read this:
DEAR MR. BARNABAS (the 'Beverley' crossed out),--Her Grace, my dear
god-mother, having bullied my poor Tyrant out of the house, and
quarrelled with me until she is tired, has now fixed her mind upon
you.
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