“I fear that I shall be obliged to exercise my official prerogative and give that gay youth, James Dunlap, a lecture if I hear anything more of his reckless wagers,” said the jocose old gentleman, and then added:
“By the way, Mrs. Burton, the newspapers this evening contain long accounts of the magnificent conduct of a New England sea captain, to whom the King of England has sent a letter of congratulation and praise. As the name given is Captain John Dunlap, I have been wondering if it can be that stubborn fellow whom your Uncle John and I endeavored to convince that he ought to enter Harvard.”
“It is the same stubborn, dear old cousin Jack who preferred the sea to being sent to Harvard, and he is the best and bravest sailor on the waters blue,” answered Lucy quickly, her face flushed by pleasure at hearing Jack’s praises sung and pride in knowing that he was her kinsman.
“It seems the lad was wiser than we were when he refused to be convinced by John and me. A grand sailor might have been spoiled in the making of a poor scholar. As long as the sailor sons of Uncle Sam can number men of your cousin Jack’s kind among them we need never fear for honor of the Gem of the Ocean,” said the Governor quite seriously.
“I heartily endorse that sentiment, your Excellency, but fear that on land or sea it would be difficult to discover many men like Jack Dunlap,” exclaimed Walter Burton warmly.
“When is he coming home, Lucy? You know that I lost my heart the first time that I met your bronzed sailor cousin, and am waiting anxiously for my mariner’s return,” said Bessie Winthrop, her violet-colored eyes twinkling with the gladness of youth and happiness. En passant she was a fearful little flirt.
“He does not say in his letters when we may expect him, but when I write I’ll tell him what you say, and if he does not hurry home after that nothing can induce him to do so,” said Lucy as she moved away with her husband to make room for several admirers of Miss Winthrop who were eagerly awaiting an opportunity to pay court to that popular young lady.
Just as Burton and his wife left the Governor and his pretty companion, the tuning of instruments announced the prelude to the programme for the evening. Silence fell upon the assembly, the gentlemen sought seats for the ladies and secured the most available standing room for themselves.
Surely Signor Capello never sang so grandly before. The superb harmony of Herman’s great composition filled the souls of that cultivated audience. The German Ambassador was in a perfect ecstasy of delight, and even the least appreciative were impressed, while the hypercritic, casting aside all assumption of ennui, became enthusiastic.