“Bon jour, Monsieur,” replied Dubois, making my obese governor one of his most graceful bows.
I was highly gratified at being selected as the medium of this generous offer; which Monsieur Dubois received without hesitation, as one who intended to repay it; but, at the same time, with the most grateful acknowledgments of Mr. Crobble's considerate kindness.
CHAPTER XVII.—Promotion.
“I, think there must be something wrong about your rowing,”
“My rowing!” cried I; “nonsense!—it's because you don't steer right.
“I REMEMBER, when I was a young man, I once took a fancy to rowing,” said Mr. Crobble one day to me. “I wasn't then quite so round as I am at present. Cousin Tom and I hired a wherry, but somehow we found we didn't make much way. Tom was steering, and I took the sculls, sitting my back to him like a gaby!”
“'I, think there must be something wrong about your rowing,' said Tom.
“'My rowing!' cried I; 'nonsense!—it's because you don't steer right.' Well, at last a waterman came alongside, and grinning (the fellow couldn't help it) good-naturedly, pointed out the cause of our dilemma; at which we both laughed heartily. Ever since that time I've been of opinion, that unless people, 'who row in the same boat,' understand each other, they'll never get along—”
I smiled at this lengthy prologue, not conceiving to what it could possibly lead.