But things do not last for ever, and at length the cabs drew up, one by one, at a gangway that stretched from the shore to the quarter-deck of the good ship Icebear. The gangway was covered with scarlet cloth, a neatly dressed sailor stood at each side of the shore end to steady it, and Captain Claude Alwyn stood at the other ready to receive his guests.
He looked very handsome did our Claude, in his peaked cap, reefing-jacket of simple blue, and gilt buttons.
He doffed his cap as he handed the ladies on board, and was rewarded by a smile from Mrs Hodson, and a blushet—let me coin a word—from Clara, her daughter.
Now, it was evident that Professor Hodson was the head of the party; for no sooner had every one of them taken a good look round the gallant ship than he remarked, “Now, gentlemen, what do you say—shall we have an early dinner and then sail, or sail first and have a more comfortable one out at sea! I propose the latter plan.”
“Professor,” said his wife, sternly, “I propose the former; and ladies, I think, should carry the sway.”
“They generally do,” sighed the professor, who looked subdued and henpecked, as distinguished savants are apt to be.
“Your proposal is best, madam,” put in Claude, smiling. “It is best to have it over. You can sup afterwards; that is,” he added mysteriously, “if any of you will care to.”
“Oh, we shall all sup,” said the professor. “The ocean always gives me an appetite.” (N.B.—He had been three times from London to Ramsgate by steamer.)
“Most sartainlee, capitaine,” said the French savant.
To have seen the way the gentlemen, and—pardon me, my lady readers—the ladies also, enjoyed that excellent dinner, one would have said there would be little need for supper.