“A boat! A sort of 'Rob Roy' arrangement, I suppose. Well, I would not have thought that of you. And your wife, I suppose, has gone home to her people?”
“She has done nothing of the kind,” I answered. “She lives with me, and she likes it very much. We are extremely comfortable, and our boat is not a canoe, or any such nonsensical affair. It is a large, commodious canal-boat.”
Waterford turned around and looked at me.
“Are you a deck-hand?” he asked.
“Deck-grandmother!” I exclaimed.
“Well, you needn't get mad about it,” he said. “I didn't mean to hurt your feelings; but I couldn't see what else you could be on a canal-boat. I don't suppose, for instance, that you're captain.”
“But I am,” said I.
“Look here!” said Waterford; “this is coming it rather strong, isn't it?”
As I saw he was getting angry, I told him all about it,—told him how we had hired a stranded canal-boat and had fitted it up as a house, and how we lived so cosily in it, and had called it “Rudder Grange,” and how we had taken a boarder.
“Well!” said he, “this is certainly surprising. I'm coming out to see you some day. It will be better than going to Barnum's.”