"Anything to declare?" he asked.
"Mainly corn aboard, an' tinned fruits for Port o' London. Reas'nable deal o' tea an' 'baccy, though, for you to seal—shipped for same place. By the way, chest o' tea for party living hereabouts—Goodwyn-Sandys, friend of owner—guess that's the reason for putting in at this one-hoss place," wound up Uriah T. Potter, with a depreciatory glance at the beauties of Troy.
"This is Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys," said the Collector.
"Proud to make your 'cquaintance, marm." The Captain held out his hand to the lady, who shook it affably.
"Let's see the cargo," said Mr. Moggridge.
The Captain led the way and they descended; Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys full of pretty wonder at the arrangements of the ship, and slipping her fingers timidly into the Collector's hand on the dark companion stairs. He seized and raised them to his lips.
"Oh, you poets!" expostulated she.
"Where the tyrant's only fee," murmured Mr. Moggridge.
"Is the kissing of a hand."
"Where the tyrant's only fee," murmured Mr. Moggridge.
"Is the kissing of a hand."
"What, more verses? You shall repeat them to me."