“Don’t like him at all, uncle. There’s a nasty, catty, foxy look about him.”
“A mixture of the feline and the canine, eh, my boy? Well, he must be a bad one! Ah! British prejudice is as strong in you as it is in me.”
Chapter Thirty Nine.
Spanish Liquorice.
There was quite a discussion when the doctor joined those waiting by the brig, the Count being bitterly annoyed and displaying more excitement than the others had seen in him before, while Morny kept close to his side, and whispered to him from time to time, as if trying to calm him down.
“Yes, yes, my son,” he cried passionately, and speaking to him in French; “but you are a boy, and do not think. Look here,” and he pointed to the helpless brig, “how do we know but that he may be an enemy? And we are in this helpless state, quite at his mercy.”
The doctor was listening attentively, and understood every word.
“I know,” he said soothingly, “this must be very painful for you; but Captain Chubb believes that before many days are over the brig will be as strong as ever. I answer for him that he is making every effort to finish what he has undertaken.”