"I've been looking just now, and if it were any other month in the year I should say, yes; but there's no trusting April, captain. Howsomever, if it does blow off, I'll promise you a fog in three hours afterwards."
"That will do as well. Corbett, have you settled with Duval?"
"Yes, after more noise and charivari than a panic in the Stock
Exchange would make in England. He fought and squabbled for an hour, and
I found that, without some abatement, I never should have settled the
affair."
"What did you let him off?"
"Seventeen sous," replied Corbett, laughing.
"And that satisfied him?" inquired Pickersgill.
"Yes—it was all he could prove to be a surfaire: two of the knives were a little rusty. But he will always have something off; he could not be happy without it. I really think he would commit suicide, if he had to pay a bill without a deduction."
"Let him live," replied Pickersgill. "Jeannette, a bottle of Volnay, of 1811, and three glasses."
Jeannette, who was the fille de cabaret, soon appeared with a bottle of wine, seldom called for, except by the captain of the Happy-go-lucky.
"You sail to-night?" said she, as she placed the bottle before him.