A.P. Gribble, down in their own mess, poked lots of fun at Auld Reikie, and now and then Lord Tomfoozle had a shot at the doctor also in the way of chaff; but Reikie told them both he didn't care a boddle preen* what they said.
* A shawl or plaid pin.
Tomfoozle—Fitzgerald, you know—was in fine form. I'm afraid he was somewhat worldly; for about six months ago he had heard of his brother's death, and was now determined to leave the service and keep hunters.
I'm greatly afraid, also, that Robert Burns, the ploughman-poet, and the study of natural history and arranging of specimens, had much to account for; because before the Gurnet had reached the stormy Bay of Biscay, Sturdy was engaged to Sister Mary, and Auld Reikie was brother-in-law-to-be to our hero, Jack Mackenzie.
Out of respect, perhaps, to the ladies on board, the Bay of Biscay was not on this particular occasion by any means stormy. It was smiling and sweet-tempered, just as if the deep sea-bottom of it were not bedded with men's bones.
* * * * *
"I say, Dawson," said Tom Morgan one day, "I hear that the Gurnet has passed Gibraltar, and may be expected in Plymouth Sound in a week. Suppose we take a run down and meet Jack?"
Hale and hearty old Dawson smiled.
"I'm with you, lad," he said. "It will do us both good. But first and foremost I must write to the old lady and tell her we are going. She will be delighted, I'm sure."
And thus, reader, it happened that when Jack Mackenzie and his friend Reikie were passing the door of the Mount Edgecombe Hotel—let us call it—just a day after the Gurnet had arrived, who should be standing smoking a cigar at the door thereof but big, brown-bearded Tom Morgan.