'If she's going to England you shall make our number, Glew—for George's sake,' said Mr. Vanderholt, looking at his daughter.
Just then the boatswain hailed the sailor on the top-gallant yard, and gave him some directions.
'That Jones is a fine-looking man,' said Mr. Vanderholt; 'such as he should never want a ship. What's his nation?'
'London, sir.'
'A mighty nation!' exclaimed Miss Violet.
'Which does not believe in a God,' said Vanderholt, 'though it worships a Madonna called Our Lady of Threadneedle Street.'
'There's many a pilgrim always bound to that shrine,' said Captain Glew, trying to smile.
'I am of Dutch extraction,' continued Mr. Vanderholt; 'but never dropped the letter H, nor found the V's and W's difficult. I have out-generationed that trouble of the foreigner. But why is it that the Cockney should drop his H? You speak of London. Think of the number of H's which are dropped in it every day!'
'George once made a pun,' exclaimed Miss Vanderholt. 'We were talking of a certain young lady, and I said: "Do you observe that she drops her H's?" "Her sister does worse," he answered. "Address her and she drops her eyes."'
Captain Glew again tried to smile. Mr. Vanderholt, expelling a great cloud of smoke, burst in: