Captain Shewell spoke no word, but saluted deliberately, and watched his brother’s boat recede, till it was a speck upon the sea, as it moved towards Golden Gate.
“Good old Dick!” he said at last, as he turned away toward the bridge. “And he’ll do it, if he can!”
But he never did, for as the Cormorant cleared the harbour that evening there came an accident to her machinery, and with two days’ start the Hornet was on her way to be sold again to a South American Republic.
And Edward Debney, once her captain? What does it matter?
A SABLE SPARTAN
Lady Tynemouth was interested; his Excellency was amused. The interest was real, the amusement was not ironical. Blithelygo, seeing that he had at least excited the attention of the luncheon party, said half-apologetically: “Of course my experience is small, but in many parts of the world I have been surprised to see how uniform revolutionises the savage. Put him into Convention, that is clothes, give him Responsibility, that is a chance to exercise vanity and power, and you make him a Britisher—a good citizen to all intents and purposes.”
Blithelygo was a clever fellow in his way. He had a decided instinct for military matters, and for good cigars and pretty women. Yet he would rather give up both than an idea which had got firmly fixed in his mind. He was very deferential in his remarks, but at the same time he was quite willing to go into a minority which might not include pretty Miss Angel who sat beside him, if he was not met by conclusive good arguments.
In the slight pause which followed his rather long speech, his Excellency passed the champagne cup, and Lady Tynemouth said: “But I suppose it depends somewhat on the race, doesn’t it, Mr. Travers? I am afraid mere uniforming would scarcely work successfully—among the Bengalese, for instance.”
“A wretched crew,” said Major Warham; “awful liars, awful scoundrels, need kicking every morning.”