“Why, this here, my lad. I can’t stand still no longer and see your uncle being made a cat’s-paw of.”
“Cat’s-paw, eh, captain?” said the doctor. “Let’s see, that means to fetch the roasted chestnuts out of the fire. This must apply to you, Master Rodd.”
“To me, uncle?” cried the boy, aghast.
“Yes; I don’t know anybody else whom Captain Chubb looks upon as a monkey.”
“Nay–y–y! I mean that there French Count.”
“Stop!” cried the doctor sternly. “Mind what you are saying, Captain Chubb. Count Des Saix is my friend—a gentleman, a nobleman.”
“I dessay he may be at home,” said the skipper, meeting Rodd’s indignant eyes, “but he aren’t a gentleman, or he wouldn’t be making such a tool of you. Now, don’t you put yourself in a fury, doctor, or you’ll be saying words you’ll be sorry for arter. A gentleman like you as thinks, and is scientific too, has no business to go in a passion. That’s all very well for a skipper as has got to manage a lot of awkward sailor chaps; if he didn’t use words sometimes there’d be no getting a ship along. But you have got to take it cool like a Ann Eliza, and hear it right through, and then set yourself down and judge according.”
“But look here, Captain Chubb,” said the doctor angrily, “I cannot be silent and let you malign my friend.”
“He aren’t your friend, sir; he’s only a Frenchman, and though I’ve done my duty by him right through, I allers felt as if I couldn’t trust him.”
“Why not?” said the doctor hotly.