The Amateur Gentleman

Now before this building, his blue coat laid by, his shirt sleeves

rolled up, his glazed hat on the back of his head, was the Bo'sun,

polishing away at a small, brass cannon that was mounted on a

platform, and singing lustily as he worked. So loudly did he sing,

and so engrossed was he, that he did not look up until he felt

Barnabas touch him. Then he started, turned, stared, hesitated, and,

finally, broke into a smile.

"Ah, it's you, sir,--the young gemman as bore away for Lon'on

alongside Master Horatio, his Lordship!"

"Yes," said Barnabas, extending his hand, "how are you, Bo'sun?"

"Hearty, sir, hearty, I thank ye!" Saying which he touched his

forehead, rubbed his hand upon his trousers, looked at it, rubbed it

again, and finally gave it to Barnabas, though with an air of apology.

"Been making things a bit ship-shape, sir, 'count o' this here day

being a occasion,--but I'm hearty, sir, hearty, I thank ye."

"And the Captain," said Barnabas with some hesitation. "How is the

Captain?"

"The Cap'n, sir," answered the Bo'sun, "the Cap'n is likewise hearty."

"And--Lady Cleone--is she well, is she happy?"

"Why, sir, she's as 'appy as can be expected--under the circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

"Love, sir."

"Love!" exclaimed Barnabas, "why, Bo'sun--what do you mean?"

"I mean, sir, as she's fell in love at last-"How do you know--who with--where is she--?"

"Well, sir, I know on account o' 'er lowness o' sperrits,--noticed

it for a week or more. Likewise I've heered 'er sigh very frequent,

and I've seen 'er sit a-staring up at the moon--ah, that I have!

Now lovers is generally low in their sperrits, I've heered tell,

and they allus stare very 'ard at the moon,--why, I don't know,

but they do,--leastways, so I've--"

"But--in love--with whom? Can I see her? Where is she? Are you sure?"

"And sartain, sir. Only t' other night, as I sat a-smoking my pipe

on the lawn, yonder,--she comes out to me, and nestles down under my

lee--like she used to years ago. 'Jerry, dear,' says she, 'er voice

all low and soft-like, 'look at the moon,--how beautiful it is!' says

she, and--she give a sigh. 'Yes, my lady,' says I. 'Oh, Jerry,' says

she, 'call me Clo, as you used to do.' 'Yes, my Lady Clo,' says I.

But she grapples me by the collar, and stamps 'er foot at me, all

in a moment. 'Leave out the 'lady,'' says she. 'Yes, Clo,' says I.

So she nestles an' sighs and stares at the moon again. 'Jerry, dear,'

says she after a bit, 'when will the moon be at the full?' 'To-morrer,

Clo,' says I. And after she's stared and sighed a bit longer--'Jerry,

dear,' says she again, 'it's sweet to think that while we are

looking up at the moon--others perhaps are looking at it too, I mean

others who are far away. It--almost seems to bring them nearer,

doesn't it? Then I knowed as 't were love, with a big L, sartin and

sure, and--"