"As usual, Sir Peter. It is a gala night. Fireworks."
Mrs. Poskett gave a little scream of delight.
"Fireworks! Oh, ravishing!"
"And Mrs. Poole is to sing; and Incledon."
Up jumped the Admiral, slapping his thigh. "Incledon! Then, by gum, I must be there! He was a sailor, y' know. I remember him in '85, on the Raisonable. Lord Hervey, and Pigot and Hughes—they 'd have him up to sing glees together!—Lord! Did ye ever hear him sing:
'A health to the Captain and officers too,
And all who belong to the jovial crew
On board of the Arethusa'?"
Now, the Admiral's voice was an admirable substitute for a fog-horn, but as a vehicle for a ballad, it left much to be desired. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn writhed in melodramatic agony, and even Mrs. Poskett winced. Basil tried to turn the enthusiast's thoughts into a gentler channel by interpolating that to-night Incledon was to sing "Tom Bowling." At once the Admiral's face took on an expression of the tenderest pathos. "Tom Bowling?—Ah!" and he was off again, in a roar he intended for a mere sentimental whisper
"Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling—"
This was too much for Jim's feelings, never more receptive to melodious sorrow than when he had just absorbed a pint of ale, and he joined his master in a sympathetic howl.
Mrs. Poskett was overcome. "Oh, don't, Sir Peter," she cried. "Alderman Poskett used to sing just like that. You could hear him a mile off, but you could never tell what the tune was." The tender recollection very nearly moved her to tears.