“Such an one must surely be the most formidable piece of femininity in the world,” said Mr. Kendal.
“By no means,” said Garrick. “During my career as manager of a playhouse I have had to face worse. Still, the training of a naval officer in dealing with feminine craft—at times off a lee shore, and often during a storm at sea—nothing to be compared to the tempests in our green-room—is certain to be of value. You will stay, Lieutenant Burney, if it please you.”
“I should be most unwilling to obtrude upon your council, sir,” said young Burney, “unless you are convinced that my humble services—”
“You have been among the savages of the South Seas, and you are acquainted with all the rules of chasing and capturing prizes, all of the feminine gender—I allude to your sloops and frigates and catamarans—I take it for granted that a catamaran is as feminine in its ways as any wherry that floats,” cried Garrick. Then he turned to their visitor, who was looking more puzzled than ever.
“You may reckon yourself fortunate in the presence of our young friend, sir,” he said. “So far as I can gather this is a case of chase, with a possible capture of a prize. I venture to think that in these days a gentleman of family and fortune, like yourself, is something of a prize, Mr. Kendal.”
This was language that contained nothing to puzzle anyone, the visitor perceived. His face brightened, and he waved young Burney to a seat.
“I take it that Mr. Garrick knows what he is talking about,” he said. “And though it was truly your father to whom I came for counsel, I doubt not that you will take my part, should the worst come to the worst.”
“Which means, should the lady come to the gentleman, Mr. Burney,” said Garrick.
“Pay out your yarn, sir: I gather that you are still to the windward of your enemy, and that is the position which the books tell us we should manœuvre for,” cried the nautical assessor.