A shout of this sort was enough to bring everybody running to look. The music ceased, the dancing abruptly stopped. In a moment I was surrounded by a crowd of ladies and gentlemen shoving and exclaiming as they gathered about the skylight upon which I had laid the big sea-fowl.
“What is it, Mr. Catesby? My stars! a handsome bird surely,” exclaimed Captain Bow.
“Oh, Captain,” cried a young lady, “is the beautiful creature dead really?”
“See!” shouted a military man, “the creature’s breast is decorated with a crucifix. No, damme, it’s a trick of the light. What is it, though?”
“A silver pouncebox, I declare,” exclaimed a tall, stout lady, with a knowing nod of the feather in her head.
“A sailor’s nickel tobacco-box more like, ma’am,” observed the mate, “with some castaway’s writing inside, or that bird’s a crocodile.”
“Let’s have the story of the thing, Mr. Catesby,” said the captain.
I briefly stated that I had ascended to the maintop to breathe the cool air up there and that whilst I was nodding the bird had dashed against me and fallen dead across my knees.
“Oh, how dreadful!” “Oh how interesting!” “Oh, I wonder the fright didn’t make you faint, Mr. Catesby!” and so on, and so on from the young ladies.
“Shall I cast the seizing of the box adrift, sir?” said the mate.