“Philosophically put, Barret,” said Mabberly; “I had no idea you thought so profoundly.”
“H’m! I’m not so sure of the profundity,” said the little old lady, pursing her lips; “no doubt you may be right as regards class; but then, young man, I have been familiar with all classes of men, and therefore, according to your principle, I should have some strange memories connected with Mr Jackman’s voice, and Mr Mabberly’s, and the laird’s, and everybody’s.”
“Well said, sister; you have him there!” cried the laird with a guffaw; “but don’t lug me into your classes, for I claim to be an exception to all mankind, inasmuch as I have a sister who belongs to no class, and is ready to tackle any man on any subject whatever, between metaphysics and baby linen. Come now, Barret, do you think yourself strong enough to go out with us in the boat to-morrow?”
“Quite. Indeed, I would have begged leave to go out some days ago, but Doctor Jackman there, who is a very stern practitioner, forbids me. However, I have my revenge, for I compel him to sit with me a great deal, and entertain me with Indian stories.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Junkie, who happened to be in the room, “he hasn’t told you yet about the elephant hunt, has he?”
“No, not yet, Junkie,” returned Barret; “he has been faithful to his promise not to go on with that story till you and your brothers are present.”
“Well, but tell it now, Mr Jackman, and I’ll go an call Eddie and Archie,” pleaded the boy.
“You will call in vain, then,” said his father, “for they have both gone up the burn, one to photograph and the other to paint. I never saw such a boy as Archie is to photograph. I believe he has got every scene in the island worth having on his plates now, and he has taken to the cattle of late— What think ye was the last thing he tried? I found him in the yard yesterday trying to photograph himself!”
“That must indeed have puzzled him; how did he manage?” asked MacRummle.
“Well, it was ingenious. He tried to get Pat Quin to manipulate the instrument while he sat; but Quin is clumsy with his fingers, at least for such delicate work, and, the last time, he became nervous in his anxiety to do the thing rightly; so, when Archie cried ‘Now,’ for him to cover the glass with its little cap, he put it on with a bang that knocked over and nearly smashed the whole concern. So what does the boy do but sets up a chair in the right focus and arranges the instrument with a string tied to the little cap. Then he sits down on the chair, puts on a heavenly smile, and pulls the string. Off comes the cap! He counts one, two—I don’t know how many—and then makes a sudden dash at the camera an’ shuts it up! What the result may be remains to be seen.”