“I do,” said the boy.
“What would she say, sir?” snapped out the doctor.
Rodd stood silent in the darkness for a few moments as he stole his hand under the irate doctor’s arm.
“She’d say that dear Uncle Paul had been thinking about old Bony, and that it had made him very cross with me about nothing at all.”
Uncle Paul made a sound like the beginning of a speech that would not come, and the silence seemed deeper than ever, nothing being heard but the soft lapping of the water under the vessel’s counter, as she glided slowly through the sea.
But Rodd felt the warm arm under which his hand nestled press it closer and closer to the old man’s side, and that he was urged along the deck to keep pace with his elder slowly up and down, up and down, from stem to stern, for some minutes before that speech came—one which was quite different from that which Rodd fully expected to hear, for it was in Uncle Paul’s natural tones once more, as he said very thoughtfully and in quite a confidential manner—
“Yes, very gentlemanly, Pickle, my boy; quite the nobleman, I might say, and I am not at all surprised that you helped that poor lad to escape. A little effeminate, but certainly a very nice lad. But I have been thinking about them ever since I came on board this afternoon, and I can’t quite make out that Count. What’s he doing here, my boy? On some mission, and connected with some jealousy and a stop being put to his cruise. I am not quite sure, Pickle.”
“Rodney, uncle,” said the boy mischievously.
“Pickle, you dog! Be quiet. I am talking sense. But I think I have worked it out. He betrayed himself. He’s a naturalist, boy. He betrayed it in his looks and words as soon as he learned what I was about. Didn’t you notice how eager he was to know about our pursuits?”
“Yes, uncle; I noticed that directly.”