"Here he is, uncle! Here is Herbert Greyson! Come along, Herbert; you must come in and see my new uncle!" And she broke into the room, dragging before her astonished guardian a handsome, dark-eyed young sailor, who bowed and then stood blushing at his enforced intrusion.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said, "for bursting in upon you in this way; but——"
"I dragged him here willy-nilly," said Capitola.
"Still, if I had had time to think I should not have intruded."
"Oh, say no more, sir. You are heartily welcome," exclaimed the old man, thrusting out his rugged hand and seizing the bronzed one of the youth. "Sit down, sir, sit down. Good Lord, how like!" he added, mentally.
Then, seeing the young sailor still standing, blushing and hesitating, he struck his cane upon the floor and roared out:
"Demmy, sit down, sir! When Ira Warfield says sit down, he means sit down!"
"Ira Warfield!" exclaimed the young man, starting back in astonishment—one might almost say in consternation.
"Ay, sir; Ira Warfield! That's my name. Never heard any ill of it, did you?"
The young man did not answer, but continued gazing in amazement upon the speaker.