"As for loving my lady--why?
who could help it?"
"Who, indeed, Bo'sun!"
"Though I'd beg to remind you, sir, as orders _is_ orders, and
consequently she's bound to marry 'is Lordship--some day--"
"Or--become a mutineer!" said Barnabas, as the door opened to admit
Peterby, who (to the horror of the Gentleman-in-Powder, and despite
his mutely protesting legs), actually brought in the ale himself; yet,
as he set it before the Bo'sun, his sharp eyes were quick to notice
his young master's changed air, and brightened as if in sympathy.
"I want you, John, to know my good friend Bo'sun Jerry," said
Barnabas, "a Trafalgar man--"
"'Bully-Sawyer,' Seventy-four!" added the Bo'sun, rising and
extending his huge hand.
"We are all going to Hawkhurst, at once, John," continued Barnabas,
"so pack up whatever you think necessary--a couple of valises will
do, and tell Martin I'll have the phaeton,--it's roomier; and I'll
drive the bays. And hurry things, will you, John?"
So John Peterby bowed, solemn and sedate as ever, and went upon his
errand. But it is to be remarked that as he hastened downstairs, his
lips had taken on their humorous curve, and the twinkle was back in
his eyes; also he nodded his head, as who would say:
"I thought so! The Lady Cleone Meredith, eh? Well,--the sooner the
better!"
Thus the Bo'sun had barely finished his ale, when the
Gentleman-in-Powder appeared to say the phaeton was at the door.
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