"Here! Jim!" roared the Admiral, in distress and fury. "Come back! you mutinous scoundrel!" But Jim was gone.
What was the Admiral to do? Was he to leave the flag up, contrary to all precedent? That was unthinkable. On the other hand was he to offer himself as a target for Mrs. Poskett's sarcasms? Yet again, was he to show the white feather in the presence of the enemy? No! He'd be hanged if he would. He slapped himself on the chest to give himself courage, and came down the steps. "Cheer up, my hearty!" he cried; and then he hummed what he thought was the tune of "Oh! dear! what can the matter be?" and began hauling down the flag.
Meanwhile Mrs. Poskett had sidled casually along the railings, as if she were going nowhere in particular and didn't mind when she got there. But she timed herself carefully, so that she was close to Sir Peter just as he was entangled in the lines.
"Admiral!" she said, very gently.
"Ma'am?" growled he, continuing to extricate himself.
"Why do you force me to address you?" she asked reproachfully, and with great dignity.
Sir Peter was taken aback. "Me! Force you! Gobblessmysoul!" he exclaimed, "Well, I'm—"
"For your own good," said Mrs. Poskett, solemnly. "Oh, Sir Peter, you was King of the Walk on Friday. Now Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn will usurp that title."
This fetched him. He left the flag lying at the foot of the mast, and came out into the open. "Will he so, Ma'am!" he said, fiercely.
"So he will!" Having enticed him from behind the security of his railings, Mrs. Poskett knew he would follow wherever she led him. She led him at once towards the elm.