“Look at the funny bird!” said Helena suddenly. Yet I could see nothing out of the ordinary in the sea-bird she pointed out, skimming and skipping close by.
“Sir,” demanded Aunt Lucinda, also suddenly, “how long is this to last?”
“You mean the orange-dish, Mrs. Daniver?” I queried politely. “As long as you like. I also am a good provider, although to no credit, as it seems.”
“You know I do not mean the oranges, sir. I mean this whole foolish business. You are putting yourself liable to the law.”
“So did Jean Lafitte, over yonder in Barataria,” said I, “but he lived to a ripe old age and became famous. Why not I as well?”
“—You are ruining those two boys. I weep to think of our poor Jimmy—why, he lords it about as though he owned the boat. And such language!”
“He shall own a part of her if he likes, if all comes out well,” said I. “And as for Jean Lafitte, Junior, rarely have I seen a boy of better judgment, cooler mind, or more talent in machinery. He shall have an education, if he likes; and I know he will like.”
“It is wonderful what a waistcoat will do for the imagination,” remarked Helena, wholly casually. I turned to her.
“I presume it is Mr. Davidson who is to be the fairy prince,” added Aunt Lucinda.
“No, myself,” I spoke quietly. Aunt Lucinda for once was almost too unmistakable in her sniff of scorn.