"We're not strangers to Mr. and Mrs. Barclay's views," said Mr. Higginson, "and I am certainly of opinion, captain, that Mr. Barclay ought to have such a certificate as you suggest, that, on his arrival at home, he may send copies of it to those whom it concerns."
At the utterance of the words Mr. and Mrs. Barclay I laughed, whilst Grace started, gave me an appealing look, turned a deep red, and averted her face. The captain produced a sheet of paper, and after looking into a dictionary once—"Nothing like accuracy," said he, "in jobs of this sort"—he exclaimed, "Will this do?" and read as follows:—
"Ship 'Carthusian.'
"At Sea (such and such a date.)
"I, Jonathan Parsons, of the above named ship 'Carthusian,' of London, towards New Zealand, do hereby certify that I have this day united in the holy bands of wedlock the following persons, to wit: Herbert Barclay, Esquire, and Grace Bellassys, Spinster, in the presence of the undersigned."
"Nothing could be better," said I.
"Now, gentlemen and ladies," said the captain, "if you will please to sign your names."
This was done, and the document handed to me. I pocketed it with a clear sense of its value, as regards I mean the effect I might hope it would produce on Lady Amelia Roscoe. Captain Parsons and the others then shook hands with us, the two ladies kissing Grace, who, poor child, looked exceedingly frightened and pale.
"What is the French word for breakfast?" said Captain Parsons.
"Deejenwer, sir," answered M'Cosh.
Parsons bent his ear with a frown. "You're giving me the Scotch for it, I believe," said he.