“’Alf a minute, sir,” requested Mr. Dobb. “I can see you don’t understand diplomaticism. You ’ave to run a few risks to start with, and then you sets ’em right afterwards, when you’ve got what you wants—that’s diplomaticism.”
“If you was to get what you really wants—”
“After all, sir, it’s only what you asked me to do,” contended Horace. “‘’Elp me to find out which one of ’em ’as got the money,’” says you to me, “‘and I’ll give you a job on the “Alert.”’ Well, I ’ave ’elped you to find out. You know now that it’s the daughter what’s got it!”
“Yes, and I’ve been and proposed to the mother!” groaned Captain Gooster.
“Well, you’ve only got to change over,” suggested Horace.
“Step back and say it was really Ann I meant to ask, I suppose?” groaned Captain Gooster. “Just as if the daughter would ’ave anything to do with me now! Just as if the old ’un would let me off ’er ’ooks now, the artful, deceiving old cat!”
“You could work up a quarrel with ’er,” prompted Mr. Dobb.
“She ain’t the sort to quarrel till after we’re married,” ruefully answered the skipper of the “Alert.” “After that, it’ll be a different story, I bet!”
Mr. Dobb, coming to a standstill, lightly tickled the nape of his neck for some minutes.
“I’ve got it!” he pronounced, brightly. “Call and see ’er to-morrow, and speak to ’er as man to man. Tell ’er you made a mistake, and it ain’t love but only respect for ’er old age!”