Two days later Tom was carried on board the homeward-bound steamer amid the sympathetic cheers of a great crowd of Europeans and natives. Little had been seen of him, but from the government officials to the meanest coolie everybody knew all about him, and was ready to laud him to the skies.
As the gangway was about to be removed, a round little figure was seen rushing wildly up the quay, holding a blue envelope in his right hand, and shouting to the seamen.
"Just vun leetle moment!" cried Monsieur Armand Desjardins, panting as he tumbled on board. He made his way to the long chair on which Tom was lying, and handed him the envelope. "Monsieur Burnaby, vun leetle gift, vun souvenir, for to make you understan' my vair high consideration and my immense entusiasm. Adieu, my dear Monsieur Burnaby; dat you may arrive sound and safe at de end of de road, and vun fine day return for to see us now so desolate, dat is de prayer of your vair devoted Armand Desjardins. Adieu, mademoiselle, j'ai bien l'honneur de vous saluer; messieurs ... mademoiselle...."
And with his hand on his heart the vivacious little Frenchman made his best bow, and backed down the gangway.
The bell sounded, the screw revolved, and in a few minutes the vessel was steaming out of the harbour. Tom's friends stood at the rail, gazing at the receding shore and the waving hats and handkerchiefs until they had well-nigh faded from sight. Then they placed their deck-chairs in a semicircle around Tom, and sighed a sigh of great contentment.
"Well, we're off at last," said Mr. Barkworth, lighting a cigar and looking round over his spectacles on the group, with even more than his usual benevolence. "England, home, and beauty, and all that sort of thing, you know. No place like home. Well, what did mossoo give you, Tom? What I never can make out is, why a Frenchman can't do things in the same way as rational people. Why make a ballroom bow on the deck of a steamer, eh? Tell me that, now. What are you smiling at, Tom? Some bit of buffoonery, I'll warrant, h'm!"
"Monsieur Desjardins has dropped into verse," replied Tom, laughing outright. "A rhymed valedictory."
"Read it," said Sir John.
"Your accent is better than mine," said Tom, passing the paper to Lilian, his eyes twinkling. In her perfect accent, and with due attention to the mute e's, she began to read:
"Ô mon héros si jeune! ô guerrier intrépide!
L'Afrique à ton départ a le coeur triste et vide.
Lea bords du vaste lac résonnent de sanglots,
Et ton nom, ô Thomas, se mêle au bruit des flots."