“Queer, isn’t it, uncle? I am quite dry in front. My word, how the rain did come down!”
“Messieurs will dine here?” said one of the waiters smilingly.
“Oh, oui, pour certain” replied Uncle Paul. “If you don’t mind, Pickle.”
“Mind, uncle? Oh, yes, of course. I am horribly hungry.”
“You always are, my boy. Well, we must make the best of a bad business,” continued the doctor, as, nodding to the waiter, he moved a little closer to the fire and turned his back, an example followed by Rodd.
“It makes a dreadful time, monsieur,” said the smiling waiter. “Will he choose, or trust his servant to prepare a dinner upon the field of which the English milor’ will be proud?”
“You speak capital English,” said the doctor, rather sarcastically.
“I have been many times in public in London.”
“Ah, that’s right. Then give us a snug little dinner while we dry ourselves. But what’s the meaning of all that upset at the barracks next door?”
“It is not quite that I know, sir,” said the man eagerly; “but two officers came in upon the instant to put their cloaks where they should not water themselves so much, and I hear them say, a dispatch come quickly for monsieur the Governor to seize upon a ship. Oh, faith of a man! Hark at that!”