‘Yes, sir.’
‘Call Muffin.’
But Muffin was too ill, or drunk, or both, to appear, so one of the stewards was summoned and ordered to bring from Sir Wilfrid’s cabin a telescope that he would find in such and such a place. The man returned with the glass, a lovely Dollond, silver-mounted.
‘Try it, Charles,’ my cousin said to me.
I pointed it at the cutter, and found the lenses amazingly powerful and brilliant. ‘A superb glass, indeed,’ said I, returning it to him.
‘Now, captain,’ said Wilfrid with that raised look I have before referred to, ‘I dedicate this glass to the discovery of the “Shark.”’ His teeth met in a snap as he spoke the word, and his breathing grew laboured. ‘Let this telescope be carried aloft by that topgallant-yard man who was the first to lift his hand, and there let it remain, passing from sunrise to sunset from hand to hand as the look-outs are relieved. Never on any account whatever is it to be brought down from that masthead until the image of the craft we want is reflected fair in it. See to this, Finn.’
‘Ay, ay, sir,’ responded the captain with his long face still charged with expostulation, though you saw he would not have disputed for the value of his wages.
‘By-and-by,’ continued my cousin, ‘I’ll give you a night glass of equal power, to be dedicated to the same purpose.’
‘Thank ’ee, Sir Wilfrid; but your honour’—and here the worthy fellow looked nervously from Sir Wilfrid to me—‘am I to understand, sir, that this here beautiful instrument,’ handling it as if it were a baby, ‘along with t’other which you’re to give me, is to be kept aloft day and night no matter the weather?’
‘Day and night, no matter the weather,’ said Wilfrid, in a sepulchral voice.