"the doctor was fussing about."
By kind permission of the Captain, I was allowed to avail myself of the mail-boat at all ports; and now, tumbling into this vessel, the Doctor and I soon reached dry land.
“Let us bolt straight off to the Cathedral,” he said; “ten to one the Bishop’s there; if not, we can go on to his house.”
Roseau appeared to be rather a languishing little town. The stony streets were all overgrown with grass; the place generally lacked any air of enterprise; the negro children, who swarmed everywhere, were more than usually destitute of attire.
Upon reaching the Bishop’s place of business, we found to our dismay that a funeral was going on. The Cathedral doors were wide open, a crowd was gathered within, and over a flower-laden bier stood the Bishop, singing away, and as fully occupied as a man could be.
I noticed that the Doctor was fussing about, trying to catch his friend’s eye. I therefore said:
“Don’t; it isn’t decent. You can’t expect even a bishop to be genial and effusive at a time like this. Consider the survivors.”
“He sees me!” whispered my brother.
“Sees you; yes, not being blind he couldn’t help it. Everybody in the Cathedral sees you; and they very naturally resent the sight. Come away; you’re making the Bishop nervous.”