"Sir?"
"Do you know the Duchess of Camberhurst well?"
"Know her, sir?" repeated the Bo'sun, giving a dubious pull at his
starboard whisker; "why, Mr. Beverley, sir, there's two things as I
knows on, as no man never did know on, nor never will know on,--and
one on 'em's a ship and t' other's a woman."
"But do you know her well enough to like and--trust?"
"Why, Mr. Beverley, sir, since you ax me, I'll tell you--plain and
to the p'int. We'll take 'er Grace the Duchess and say, clap her
helm a-lee to tack up ag'in a beam wind, a wind, mind you, as ain't
strong enough to lift her pennant,--and yet she'll fall off and miss
her stays, d'ye see, or get took a-back and yaw to port or starboard,
though, if you ax me why or wherefore, I'll tell you as how,--her
being a woman and me only a man,--I don't know. Then, again, on the
contrary, let it blow up foul--a roaring hurricane say, wi' the seas
running high, ah! wi' the scud flying over her top-s'l yard, and she'll
rise to it like a bird, answer to a spoke, and come up into the
wind as sweet as ever you see. The Duchess ain't no fair-weather
craft, I'll allow, but in 'owling, raging tempest she's staunch, sir,
--ah, that she is,--from truck to keelson! And there y'are, Mr. Beverley,
sir!"
"Do you mean," inquired Barnabas, puzzled of look, "that she is to
be depended on--in an emergency?"
"Ay, sir--that she is!"
"Ah!" said Barnabas, nodding, "I'm glad to know that, Bo'sun,--very
glad." And here he became thoughtful all at once. Yet after a while
he spoke again, this time to Peterby.
"You are very silent, John."
"I am--your valet, sir!"
"Then, oh! man," exclaimed Barnabas, touching up the galloping bays
quite unnecessarily, "oh, man--forget it a while! Here we sit--three
men together, with London miles behind us, and the Fashionable World
further still. Here we sit, three men, with no difference between us,
except that the Bo'sun has fought and bled for this England of ours,
you have travelled and seen much of the world, and I, being the
youngest, have done neither the one nor the other, and very little
else--as yet. So, John,--be yourself; talk, John, talk!"
Now hereupon John Peterby's grave dignity relaxed, a twinkle dawned
in his eyes, and his lips took on their old-time, humorous curve.
And lo! the valet became merged and lost in the cosmopolitan, the
dweller in many cities, who had done and seen much, and could tell
of such things so wittily and well that the miles passed unheeded,
while the gallant bays whirled the light phaeton up hill and down
dale, contemptuous of fatigue.