"Oh, crickey! Wasn't it prime! I ain't heard anything like it this month of Sundays. Can't he keep company stunning, Cherrie? I say, Charley's dished, ain't he, Cherrie?"
"How long have you been up there, you young imp?" asked Cherrie, her wrath rising.
"Long enough to hear every word of it! Don't be mad, Cherrie—Oh, no, I never mentions it, its name is never heard—honor bright, you know."
"Oh, if I had you here," cried Miss Nettleby, looking viciously up at him, "wouldn't I box your ears for you!"
"Oh, no, you wouldn't!" said Bill, swinging about. "How was I to know when I roosted up here that you were going to take a whack at courting over there. I was going over to Jim Tod's, and, feeling tired, I got up here to rest. I say, Cherrie? would you like to hear a secret?"
Cherrie would like nothing better, only before he told it, she would rather he got down. It gave her the fidgets to look at him up there. Bill got lazily down accordingly.
"Now, what's the secret?" asked the young lady.
"It's this," replied the young gentleman. "Do you know who Captain Cavendish happens to be?"
"I know he's an Englishman," said Cherrie; "all the officers are that."
"Yes; but you don't know who his folks are, I bet."