Poor Ted would have given anything to have known what was said to him, but, being utterly ignorant of French, shook his head and bowed with an air of profound respect, which piece of politeness caused his short and rather ill-fitting tail to stick straight up in the air for a moment, and drew roars of laughter from the company.
“Dansez, dansez-vous,” said the Frenchman, with more emphasis.
“Och! it’s that ye want, is it?” said Ted, much relieved; “sure I’ll do it with all the pleasure in life.—Clear the deck, boys!”
And without more ado the lively tar began to whistle a sailor’s hornpipe, and to dance the same with an amount of vigorous dexterity that had in former years made him the favourite of the forecastle.
The surprise soon merged into admiration, for our hero danced exceedingly well, and all eyes were attracted to him. Among others the British consul came forward to look on with much interest and curiosity, for his ear was perhaps the only one present to which the tune whistled was familiar.
Dancing close up to him, Ted Flaggan suddenly slipped, and, staggering as if about to fall, flung his arm over the consul’s shoulder.
“Take care!” said the latter, catching him.
“Och!” gasped Ted, sinking down and almost dragging the other after him, “spake to me av ye love me.”
Amazed by this tender appeal, and suddenly suspecting the personality of the boar, the consul bent down while the rest of the onlookers crowded round,—and said in a low voice—
“Why, Flag—”