"Sir," said the Bo'sun, pegging thoughtfully at a rose in the carpet
with his wooden leg, "by your good leave, I'd like to ax 'ee a
question."
"Certainly, Bo'sun, what is it?" inquired Barnabas, looking up from
the destruction of the many attempts of his first letter to Cleone.
"Mr. Beverley, sir," said the Bo'sun, pegging away at the carpet as
he spoke, "is it--meaning no offence, and axing your pardon,--but
are you hauling your wind and standing away for Hawkhurst so prompt
on 'account o' my Lady Cleone?"
"Yes, Bo'sun, on account of our Lady Cleone."
"Why, then, sir," said the Bo'sun, fixing his eyes on the ceiling
again, "by your leave--but,--why, sir?"
"Because, Bo'sun, you and I have this in common, that we both--love
her."
Here the Bo'sun dropped his glazed hat, and picking it up, sat
turning it this way and that, in his big, brown fingers.
"Why, then, sir," said he, looking up at Barnabas suddenly,
"what of Master Horatio, his Lordship?"
"Why, Bo'sun, I told him about it weeks ago. I had to. You see, he
honors me with his friendship."
The Bo'sun nodded, and broke into his slow smile:
"Ah, that alters things, sir," said he.
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