"Could he have meditated suicide?" murmured a third. "No; he looks not like one who has been disappointed in love."
The Cook courteously but firmly demanded an explanation, and one of the bystanders, a venerable man in the dusty coat of a miller, led him to a slight elevation to obtain it. Then the Cook saw that a natural and abrupt fall of about fifteen feet extended entirely across the river! In an instant he vowed a handsome subscription to the campaign fund of whatever candidate might run against the Vice in the autumn campaign.
The other boats approached in the order of their rapidity, the Chrysalids coming last, and the Vice's admission that his boat, with its keel, could never have escaped had it been in the Cherub's dangerous proximity to the falls, so reacted upon the Cook's temper that he alienated a portion of the intended subscription to the opposition campaign fund, and expended it upon a dinner for four, for which he gave the proprietress of an adjoining hotel—"Le Hotel de la Ville"—carte blanche. And the landlady did her best. For an hour she and several assistants hung over two stoves, while other assistants scoured the neighborhood for delicacies. The dinner was appetizing, as was all whereof the squadron partook in Acadia after they had learned to avoid the railroad hotels. Finally after all else was disposed of, an immense dish of raspberries was placed upon the table, and beside it a small bowl full of what seemed to be buttermilk.
"There!" exclaimed the Vice, eying the bowl with manifest disgust, "that's an illustration of the effect of monarchical institutions upon physical habits. The dinner has been perfect, thus far, but now, just when the climax should be attained, they offer us buttermilk!"
"Perhaps it's cream," suggested the Commodore.
"Cream?" said the Vice scornfully. "Oh no. I know cream. Cream is a thin blue fluid. This is not like it in the least."
Here the Vice scooped a teaspoonful of the pasty fluid, and brought it gently towards his fastidious nose. Suddenly he tasted it, straightened rigidly, and exclaimed,
"Judas Iscariot! It is cream!"
The Vice said no more until he had sampled the bowl to the extent of a saucerful. Then he raised his face and displayed unwonted lines of thoughtfulness and conviction, as he exclaimed,
"Gentlemen, if an English cow gave that cream, I have no hesitation in saying that our independence wasn't worth fighting for!"