Certainly no man was ever better favored in his
audience; Mr. Allardyce let his pipe go out more than once. And the
ladies hung on my words, Mistress Lucy sitting forward in her
chair, her lips parted, her eyes kindling, and a ruddy glow
suffusing her cheeks. The room rang with Mr. Allardyce's laughter
when I described our march across country with the gagged
Frenchmen, and I vow I could almost hear the beating of Mistress
Lucy's heart as I told of our fight with Duguay-Trouin.
When I had ended my tale, Mr. Allardyce tugged at the bell rope,
crying:
"Egad, we must drink the health of Mr. Midshipman Bold," and when
Susan appeared, with surprising celerity (I believe the minx had
been listening at the door) he roared at her for keeping me waiting
so long a-fasting.
"And what do you think of that, Lucy?" he cries, turning to his
niece. "Didst ever hear such a tale of ups and downs and derring
do?"
"I love Joe Punchard," said Mistress Lucy, and that set her uncle
a-laughing again, though I confess it somewhat mystified me.
My kind friends insisted that I should stay the night with them,
and we sat up talking to a late hour. I longed to ask how things
stood in the matter of the guardianship of Mistress Lucy, but the
subject was ignored by tacit consent so long as the ladies were in
the room. When they had retired, however, Mr. Allardyce drew his
chair alongside of mine, and said:
"Humphrey, I am worried out of my life.
Pages:
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243