Triton, roaring through a conch, brought forward a cockle-shell full of salt-water, and delivered it solemnly to Amyas, who, of course, put a noble into it, and returned it after Grenville had done the same.
“Holla, Dick Admiral!” cried neptune, who was pretty far gone in liquor; “we knew thou hadst a right English heart in thee, for all thou standest there as taut as a Don who has swallowed his rapier.”
“Grammercy, stop thy bellowing, fellow, and on; for thou smellest vilely of fish.”
“Everything smells sweet in its right place. I'm going home.”
“I thought thou wert there all along, being already half-seas over,” said Cary.
“Ay, right Upsee-Dutch; and that's more than thou ever wilt be, thou 'long-shore stay-at-home. Why wast making sheep's eyes at Mistress Salterne here, while my pretty little chuck of Burrough there was playing at shove-groat with Spanish doubloons?”
“Go to the devil, sirrah!” said Cary. Neptune had touched on a sore subject; and more cheeks than Amyas Leigh's reddened at the hint.
“Amen, if Heaven so please!” and on rolled the monarch of the seas; and so the pageant ended.
The moment Amyas had an opportunity, he asked his brother Frank, somewhat peevishly, where Rose Salterne was.
“What! the mayor's daughter? With her uncle by Kilkhampton, I believe.”