“Do you want to send a present to her, sir?”
“Oh, yes, Mr Oakum.”
“Well, sir, if I were in love with a lady, and wanted—”
“Oh, hush! Mr Oakum.”
“Wanted, I says, to find her a present, I shouldn’t send whistling canaries, but a pair o’ cooing doves.”
The young naturalist stared at old Oakum, as if he wished to penetrate his inmost thoughts; but the old sailor never flinched, looking as serious as a judge outside, but laughing heartily within at the other’s expense.
“I will,” he exclaimed; and hurrying away he was busy the rest of the day painting up one of his old cages, in which he placed a pair of doves, and called the old sailor down to him in the evening.
“Take those to Miss Studwick, Mr Oakum, with my compliments, and—er—by the way—er—you would not feel offended if I offered you half-a-crown to buy tobacco?”
“Not in the least, sir,” exclaimed Oakum, earnestly. “I’d do owt to oblige you.”
“Take them directly, then,” he exclaimed; and with the two soft-plumaged birds sitting close together as the old fellow swung the cage, the present was taken to where Bessy Studwick sat by the side of her brother, reading to him on deck.