“Whist! whist! blood an thunder! it’ll rain scimitars an’ grape-shot av ye say a word! Mate me in the gardin’ dear, under the palm.”
This was said in the midst of a writhing and growling which would have done credit to a lunatic boar, if such there were!
“Not hurt, I hope?” said the French consul, coming forward.
“Not at all,” replied Colonel Langley, rising with a smile, “the fellow is one of my domestics, and has almost over-acted his part. He will be all right in a minute if some one will be kind enough to fetch him a glass of water—”
“An’ brandy, ochone!” exclaimed the boar, with another tremendous growl, that again sent the children into shouts of delight.
The brandy and water was brought, and Ted making a polite bow to the company, passed down the room with a slight tremor of the hornpipe in his legs, and a faint trill of the tune on his lips, both of which melted gradually into a boarish grunt and roll as he reached the lobby and passed out into the garden.
Hastening to a stately date-palm, of which there happened to be only one specimen in the garden of the French residence, the heated seaman pushed off his head, wiped his brow, drank the brandy and water, and threw away the tumbler, after which he sat down on a root, mechanically pulled out his pipe, and was in the act of filling it when Colonel Langley came hurriedly forwards.
“Why, Flaggan,” he asked, “what’s wrong? for something must be, to induce your strange conduct.”
“Lord Exmouth, sir,” replied Ted, rising up with an air of dignified importance which the elevated snout of the boar tended sadly to impair, “is in the offing with fifty sail o’ the line, more or less, comin’ to blow this precious city into the middle of next week.”
“Come, Flaggan, let us have it without jesting,” said the consul gravely.