Part 13 (1/2)

”Go away; no females allowed here. Off with 'ee this moment!”

”Put down those --s, sir,” yelled the Admiral.

”Sarve 'ee right: no business to come: 'tes Bachelor's Hall, this, an' us don't want no womankind trapesin' here: so keep your distance.

Go 'long!” And Caleb began to wave again.

”Sir,” cried the Admiral, appealing to Mr. Fogo, ”what is the meaning of this extraordinary reception?”

”Eh? What?” said that gentleman, who apparently had fallen into a fit of deep abstraction. ”I beg your pardon. I did not quite catch--”

”What is the meaning of all this, sir?” The Admiral was scarlet with pa.s.sion.

”Oh, it's quite right, I believe--quite right. Caleb will tell you.”

As he gave this astonis.h.i.+ng answer in a far-away tone, Mr. Fogo's spectacles rested on his visitor for a moment with a smile of deepest benevolence. Then, with a sigh, he resumed his was.h.i.+ng.

The Admiral positively danced with rage.

”There, what did I tell 'ee?” exclaimed Caleb triumphantly.

”That's your answer, and now you can go 'long home. Off with 'ee!”

The Admiral's reply would probably have contained some strong words.

It was arrested by a catastrophe.

During this altercation the tide had been rising, and carried the boat gently up towards the little beach. As the Admiral opened his mouth to retort, the boat's nose jarred upon a sunken heap of pebbles. The shock was slight, but enough to upset his equilibrium.

Without any warning, the Admiral's heels shot upwards, and the great man himself, with a wild clutch at vacancy, soused backwards-- c.o.c.ked-hat and all--into the water.

The three Misses Buzza with one accord clasped their hands and uttered dismal shrieks; the three mushroom hats shook with terror.

Mr. Fogo looked up from his was.h.i.+ng.

”Papa! oh, save him--save our dear Papa!”

There was no danger. Presently a crimson face rose over the boat's stern, blowing like a grampus. A pair of dripping epaulets followed; and then the Admiral stood up, knee-deep in water, and swore and spat alternately.

How different from that glittering hero, at sight of whom, not an hour before, the Trojan dames at their lattices had stopped their needlework to whisper! Down his nose and chin ran a pitiable flood; his scanty locks, before so wiry and obstinate, lay close against his ears; his gorgeous uniform, tarnished with slime, hung in folds, and from each fold poured a separate cascade; the whole man had become suddenly shrunken.

Speechless with rage, the little man clambered over the stern and shook his fist at the wondering spectacles of Mr. Fogo.

”You shall repent this, sir! You shall--Jane, push the boat off at once!”

But even the dignity of a fine exit was denied the Admiral. The boat was by this time firmly aground, and he was forced to stand, forming large pools upon the stern-board, while the grinning Caleb pushed her off. And still Mr. Fogo looked mildly on, with his hands in the wash-tub.

”Do you hear me, sir? You shall repent this!” raved the Admiral.

”Now, don't 'ee go upsettin' yourself again, 'cos wance es enough.

An' 't'ain't no good to be vexed wi' Maaster, 'cos he don't mind 'ee.

'Tes like Smoothey's weddin'--all o' one side. Next time, I hopes you'll listen when you'm spoken to.”

And with a chuckle, Caleb sent the boat spinning into deep water.