How the two Companions were knocked off their Perch.
If they had not been English, the probabilities are that Bob Roberts and Tom Long would have hugged each other. As it was they seemed to think it quite the correct thing to shake hands over and over again, and then walk up and down under the palm-trees of the enclosure, flushed, excited, and as full of swagger as they could possibly be.
“Blest if they don’t look like a couple o’ young game cocks who have just killed their birds,” said old Dick to Billy Mustard. “My word, they are cocky! But where are you going, old man?”
“To fetch my instrument,” said Billy.
“What, yer fiddle? What do you want that ’ere for?”
“The young gents wants it,” said Billy.
So with a nod he went into his quarters, to return with his beloved violin in its green baize bag, which he bore to where Bob and Tom were now seated at one of the tables beneath a shady tree.
On the strength of their adventure they were indulging themselves with bitter beer, into which they dropped lumps of ice, and as soon as Billy Mustard came, the violin was brought out, tuned, and the harmonious sound produced had the effect of soon gathering together an audience in the soft mellow hour before sunset.
Several officers seated themselves at the table, and followed the youngsters’ example; soldiers and sailors gathered at a little distance beneath the trees; and unseen by the party below, Rachel Linton and Mary Sinclair appeared at a mat-shaded window.
“Tom Long’s going to sing ‘The Englishman,’” shouted Bob Roberts suddenly, and there was a loud tapping upon the rough deal table.