"Ha, Jerry!" exclaimed his Lordship, "what now? If you happen to have anything else eatable in that hat of yours, out with it, for I am devilish sharp-set still."
"Why, I have got summat, Master Horatio, but it aren't bread nor yet beef, nor yet again biled 'am, my Lord—it can't be eat nor it can't be drank—and here it be!" and with the words the Bo'sun produced a ponderous iron key.
"Why, my dear old Jerry—my lovely Bo'sun—"
"Captured by his Honor, Master Horatio—carried off by the Cap'n under your own father's very own nose, sir—or as you might say, cut out under the enemy's guns, my Lord!" With which explanation the old sailor unfastened the padlock, raised the upper leg-board, and set the prisoner free.
"Ah!—but it's good to have the use of one's legs again!" exclaimed his Lordship, stretching the members in question, "and that," said he, turning to Barnabas with his whimsical smile, "that is another value of the stocks—one never knows how pleasant and useful a pair of legs can be until one has sat with 'em stretched out helplessly at right angles for an hour or two." Here, the Bo'sun having stowed back the key and resumed his hat, his Lordship reached out and gripped his hand. "So it was Uncle John, was it, Jerry—how very like Uncle John—eh, Jerry?"
"Never was nobody born into this here vale o' sorrer like the Cap'n—no, nor never will be—nohow!" said the Bo'sun with a solemn nod.
"God bless him, eh, Jerry?"
"Amen to that, my Lord."
"You'll let him know I said 'God bless him,' Jerry?"
"I will, my Lord, ay, ay, God bless him it is, Master Horatio!"
"Now as to my Roman—my father, Jerry, tell him—er—"
"Be you still set on squaring away for London, then, sir?"
"As a rock, Jerry, as a rock!"
"Then 't is 'good-by,' you're wishing me?"
"Yes, 'good-by,' Jerry, remember 'God bless Uncle John,' and—er—tell my father that—ah, what the deuce shall you tell him now?—it should be something a little affecting—wholly dutiful, and above all gently dignified—hum! Ah, yes—tell him that whether I win or lose the race, whether I break my unworthy neck or no, I shall never forget that I am the Earl of Bamborough's son. And as for you, Jerry, why, I shall always think of you as the jolly old sea dog who used to stoop down to let me get at his whiskers, they were a trifle blacker in those days. Gad! how I did pull 'em, Jerry, even then I admired your whiskers, didn't I? I swear there isn't such another pair in England. Good-by, Jerry!" Saying which his Lordship turned swiftly upon his heel and walked on a pace or two, while Barnabas paused to wring the old seaman's brown hand; then they went on down the hill together.
And the Bo'sun, sitting upon the empty stocks with his wooden pin sticking straight out before him, sighed as he watched them striding London-wards, the Lord's son, tall, slender, elegant, a gentleman to his finger tips, and the commoner's son, shaped like a young god, despite his homespun, and between them, as it were linking them together, fresh and bright and young as the morning, went the joyous Spirit of Youth.
Now whether the Bo'sun saw aught of this, who shall say, but old
eyes see many things. And thus, perhaps, the sigh that escaped the
battered old man-o'-war's man's lips was only because of his own
vanished youth—his gray head and wooden leg, after all.
CHAPTER X
WHICH DESCRIBES A PERIPATETIC CONVERSATION
"Sir," said his Lordship, after they had gone some way in silence, "you are thoughtful, not to say, devilish grave!"
"And you," retorted Barnabas, "have sighed—three times."
"No, did I though?—why then, to be candid,—I detest saying 'Good-by!'—and I have been devoutly wishing for two pair of muffles, for, sir, I have taken a prodigious liking to you—but—"
"But?" inquired Barnabas.
"Some time since you mentioned the names of two men—champions both—ornaments of the 'Fancy'—great fighters of unblemished reputation."
"You mean my—er—that is, Natty Bell and John Barty."
"Precisely!—you claim to have—boxed with them, sir?"
"Every day!" nodded Barnabas.
"With both of them,—I understand?"
"With both of them."
"Hum!"
"Sir," said Barnabas, growing suddenly polite, "do you doubt my word?"
"Well," answered his Lordship, with his whimsical look, "I'll admit I could have taken it easier had you named only one, for surely, sir, you must be aware that these were Masters of the Fist—the greatest since the days of Jack Broughton and Mendoza."
"I know each had been champion—but it would almost seem that I have entertained angels unawares!—and I boxed with both because they happened to live together."
"Then, sir," said the Viscount, extending his hand in his frank, impetuous manner, "you are blest of the gods. I congratulate you and, incidentally, my desire for muffles grows apace,—you must positively put 'em on with me at the first opportunity."
"Right willingly, sir," said Barnabas.
"But deuce take me!" exclaimed the Viscount, "if we are to become friends, which I sincerely hope, we ought at least to know each other's name. Mine, sir, is Bellasis, Horatio Bellasis; I was named Horatio after Lord Nelson, consequently my friends generally call me Tom, Dick, or Harry, for with all due respect to his Lordship, Horatio is a very devil of a name, now isn't it? Pray what's yours?"
"Barnabas—Beverley. At your service."
"Barnabas—hum! Yours isn't much better. Egad! I think 't is about as bad. Barnabas!—No, I'll call you Bev, on condition that you make mine Dick; what d' ye say, my dear Bev?"
"Agreed, Dick," answered Barnabas, smiling, whereupon they stopped, and having very solemnly shaken hands, went on again, merrier than ever.
"Now what," inquired the Viscount, suddenly, "what do you think of marriage, my dear Bev?"
