“He’s all right,” said her indignant husband; “’e ain’t born to be drowned, ’e ain’t. I’ve spoilt a good suit of clothes for nothing.”
To his wife’s amazement, he actually walked away from the insensible man, and with a boathook reached for his hat, which was floating by. Mrs. Gibbs, still gazing in blank astonishment, caught a seraphic smile on the face of her brother as Miss Harris continued her ministrations, and in a pardonable fit of temper the overwrought woman gave him a box on the ear, which brought him round at once.
“Where am I?” he inquired, artlessly.
Mrs. Gibbs told him. She also told him her opinion of him, and without plagiarizing her husband’s words, came to the same conclusion as to his ultimate fate.
“You come along home with me,” she said, turning in a friendly fashion to the bewildered girl. “They deserve what they’ve got—both of ’em. I only hope that they’ll both get such awful colds that they won’t find their voices for a twelvemonth.”
She took the girl by the arm and helped her ashore. They turned their heads once in the direction of the barge, and saw the justly incensed skipper keeping the mate’s explanations and apologies at bay with a boat-hook. Then they went in to breakfast.
THE MONKEY’S PAW
I
Without, the night was cold and wet, but in the small parlour of Laburnam Villa the blinds were drawn and the fire burned brightly. Father and son were at chess, the former, who possessed ideas about the game involving radical changes, putting his king into such sharp and unnecessary perils that it even provoked comment from the white-haired old lady knitting placidly by the fire.
“Hark at the wind,” said Mr. White, who, having seen a fatal mistake after it was too late, was amiably desirous of preventing his son from seeing it.