Before Alister could reply, he was interrupted by a message from our late captain. The Water-Lily was still in harbour, and the captain wanted the ex-mate to help him on some matters connected with the ship or her cargo. Alister would not refuse, and he was to be paid for the job, so we hastily arranged that he should go, and that Dennis and I should devote the evening to looking up the Irish cousin, and we appointed to meet on the “stelling” or wharf, alongside of which the Water-Lily lay, at eleven o’clock on the following morning.
“I was a fool not to speak to that engineer fellow the other night,” said Dennis, as we strolled on the shady side of a wide street, down the middle of which ran a wide water-dyke fringed with oleanders. “He would be certain to know where my cousin’s place is.”
“Do you know him?” I asked, with some eagerness, for the young officer was no small hero in my eyes.
“Oh, yes, quite well. He’s a lieutenant in the Engineers. He has often stayed at my father’s for shooting. But he has been abroad the last two or three years, and I suppose I’ve grown. He didn’t know ——”
“There he is!” said I.
He was coming out of a garden-gate on the other side of the street. But he crossed the road, saying, “Hi, my lads!” and putting his hand into his pocket as he came.
“Here’s diversion, Jack!” chuckled Dennis; “he’s going to tip us for our assistance in the gunpowder plot. Look at him now! Faith, he’s as short of change as myself. How that half-crown’s eluding him in the corner of his pocket! It’ll be no less, I assure ye. He’s a liberal soul. Now for it!”
And as the young lieutenant drew near, Dennis performed an elaborate salute. But his eyes were brimming with roguishness, and in another moment he burst out laughing, and after one rapid glance, and a twist of his moustache that I thought must have torn it up by the roots, the young officer exploded in the same fashion.
“Dennis!—What in the name of the mother of
mischief (and I’m sure she was an O’Moore) are you masquerading in that dress for, out here?” But before Dennis could reply, the lieutenant became quite grave, and turning him round by the arm, said, “But this isn’t masquerading, I see. Dennis, my dear fellow, what does it mean?”