“Geo’ge, come wid me,” said Peter the Great one afternoon, with face so solemn that the heart of the young midshipman beat faster as he followed his friend.
They were in Ben-Ahmed’s garden at the time—for the middy had been returned to his owner after a night in the common prison, and a threat of much severer treatment if he should ever again venture to lay his infidel hands on one of the faithful.
Having led the middy to the familiar summer house, where most of their earnest or important confabulations were held, Peter sat down and groaned.
“What’s wrong now?” asked the middy, with anxious looks.
“Oh! Geo’ge, eberyt’ing’s wrong,” he replied, flinging himself down on a rustic seat with a reckless air and rolling his eyes horribly. “Eberyt’ing’s wrong. De world’s all wrong togidder—upside down and inside out.”
The middy might have laughed at Peter’s expression if he had not been terribly alarmed.
“Come, Peter, tell me. Is Hester safe?”
“I don’ know, Geo’ge.”
“Don’t know! Why d’you keep me in such anxiety? Speak, man, speak! What has happened?”
“How kin I speak, Geo’ge, w’en I’s a’most busted wid runnin’ out here to tell you?”