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The Ocean Cat's Paw: The Story of a Strange Cruise, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 6. What Does That Sergeant Want? |
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_ CHAPTER SIX. WHAT DOES THAT SERGEANT WANT? "Humph!" grunted Uncle Paul, as they descended at last, to hear the fire crackling in the kitchen, and the bright old copper kettle singing its morning song. It was a lovely morning, with the sweet scents of the garden and moor floating in at the little parlour window, and as Uncle Paul took what his irreverent nephew called a good long sniff, he slowly and ostentatiously, moved thereto by the sight of the clean white cloth and the breakfast things, hauled up his great gold watch and examined its face. "Twenty-five minutes, thirty-seven seconds, past six, Pickle. Rather early for breakfast. Well, I suppose we must take things as they are; but I am very, very sorry that they took away my old coat; it was a great favourite. And those things of yours, sir, are much too good to go climbing about tors and wading in streams. I wish that Count had knocked at my door like a gentleman and asked me, as he should. He should have had this suit instead. I'd a deal rather he had it than my old shooting jacket." "Ha, ha!" "What are you laughing at, sir?" "Uncle Paul eating his words." "What, sir?" "You mean, uncle, that if Count de Saix had come and knocked at the door and asked you to help him, you'd have called me up and sent me to the prison for the soldiers." "Now look here, Rodney, that's impudence, sir, and--Ah! There's the microscope, and the slides and the glasses. Have they been disturbed?" "No, uncle. Just as we left them. I almost wonder they didn't carry off all those hydras." "_Hydrae_. Be careful about your Latin plurals. But look here, do you want me to box your ears?" "No, uncle." "Then don't give me any more of your impertinent allusions. Hum--hum-- hum! Half-past six. Very early for breakfast. But I begin to feel a little _appetitlich_, as the Germans call it; don't you?" "Oh no, uncle," said Rodd, very mildly. "You said last night that we had eaten enough to last twenty-four hours." "Now, look here, Rodney, you had the impudence to tell me a short time ago that I'd got out of bed the wrong way. I am afraid it's you, sir, that have done that, and if you don't take care we shall be having a very serious quarrel.--There! Run, quick! That kettle's boiling over." But Rodd was half-way to the kitchen, and had snatched the kettle off before his uncle had finished speaking, warned of what was happening as he had been by the first angry hiss. "It's all right, uncle," he cried. "No harm done!" "But what's become of that old woman? She ought to be here now, seeing about our breakfast." "Here she comes, uncle," and through the window they could see their hostess hurrying back with a big basket from the direction of the neighbour's cottage, and the next minute they heard her setting her load upon her white kitchen-table. "Oh, I didn't know you were down, gentlemen," she cried, as she hurried into the parlour. "I have been over to my neighbour's to see if she could help me now that I am in such a fix." "Well, could she?" said Uncle Paul. "Oh yes, sir. As luck had it, she was baking yesterday, and she had plenty of butter and eggs, besides a small ham which had just been smoked." "Oh, come," said Uncle Paul, "we shall be able to keep you alive for a few days longer, Pickle; and I suppose you will soon be able to let us have breakfast, Mrs Champernowne?" "Oh yes, sir, very quickly. I shall only want time to fry the ham." Uncle Paul gave an involuntary sniff, as if the aroma of the fragrant brown had floated to his nostrils. "But you can't tell, sir, how sorry I am that such a thing should have happened to gentlemen staying in my house;" and the poor woman looked appealingly to uncle and nephew, and back. "Don't you say another word about it, madam," replied Uncle Paul. "You make us a nice clear cup of coffee to take away the taste of the night's adventures." "I will indeed, sir, and I won't say another word, only thank you for taking it so patiently and, if I might make the observation, in such a lamb-like way." Rodd turned round very quickly, walked to the window, and began to whistle softly. "I went over this morning to my neighbour's, sir, as you may see by the basket." "Yes, madam," said Uncle Paul, who was staring hard at his nephew's back and scratching one ear vigorously. "I told her all about it, of course, sir, and her master was there having his breakfast before he went out peat-cutting, and if you'll believe me, sir, he did nothing but laugh, and said he knew it was the prisoners, sure enough, and he had the impudence to say that it was a great blessing that they came to my cottage instead of to his, and lucky for the prisoners too, for they'd got a better fit." "Ah, yes, Mrs Champernowne," said Uncle Paul, pulling out his watch and frowning very hard in its face; "but do you think your neighbour's ham will be as good as yours?" "Oh yes, sir--better, I expect, for it was a lovely little pig when it was fatted up and killed last Christmas; one of those little fat, short-legged, dunkey ones with turn-up snouts. My husband used to say they were the Chinese breed, and that was why the ham and bacon always went so well with China tea. You may depend upon that ham, sir, being beautiful." "Very singular fact, Mrs Champernowne," said Uncle Paul blandly. "Then perhaps you wouldn't mind cutting the rashers a little thicker. I am rather ashamed of my nephew's appetite; but then you see he's only a hungry, growing boy." Uncle Paul took out his watch again, and this time their landlady took the hint, and hurried into the kitchen, from which delicious odours soon began to escape, and in the midst of the examination upon the window-sill, where the bright sun lit up the lenses of the microscope, the magnified hydrae, with their buds and wondrous developments, were set aside, to be superseded by the morning meal. "Ah, yes," said Uncle Paul, thoroughly mollified now by Mrs Champernowne's preparations, "there are worse disasters at sea, Pickle, and I'd worn that old coat off and on for a good many years." "You couldn't have worn it off and on, uncle," said Rodd dryly. "Look here, sir; if your mother, my dear sister, had had the slightest idea that you would have grown up into such an impertinent, two-edged-tongued young scrub, I don't believe she'd have died and left you in my charge. I suppose you meant that to be very witty, sir. Please understand that I was only speaking figuratively. Now we will just spend about an hour over those specimens, and then, as it is so beautiful and fine, we will be off on to the moor again. You will take your fishing-rod, of course?" "Oh yes, uncle." "Then turn up the bottoms of those trousers before we start." "No, uncle; I shall put my leggings on over these," said Rodd coolly, "and I should advise you to do the same." Both Uncle Paul's ears seemed to twitch, and he scratched one as if it itched; but he said nothing, for just then Mrs Champernowne tapped at the door, to enter smiling, with a packet of letters. "Postman, sir," she said, placing the letters upon the table. "You won't mind me speaking another word, sir?" she said. "Oh no, Mrs Champernowne," said her visitor, rather gruffly. "What is it?" "I think you told me, sir, that the prisoners did not take any of your valuables, your money, or anything of that sort?" "No, Mrs Champernowne," cried Rodd eagerly. "They took uncle's money, but they left a lot of French napoleons instead." Uncle Paul made a snatch at a very big blue letter, and darted a furious look at his nephew. "I am very, _very, very_ glad, sir," cried Mrs Champernowne, "and, poor things, they are to be pitied, after all." She backed smilingly out of the room, and Uncle Paul held the big blue letter, which was doubly sealed with red wax, edgewise at his nephew, as if he were going to make a sword-cut at him. "Now, look here, Rodney," he said; "it has been dawning upon me for a long time past that I have indulged and spoiled you, with the result that you are growing into a most impertinent young rascal. Have the goodness for the future, sir, to allow me to speak for myself. When I require your conversational assistance, I will ask you for it." "Yes, uncle, and--" "Well, sir, what?" "Aren't you going to open that big letter, uncle? I want to know what's the news." "What is it to you, sir?" cried Uncle Paul, who had been opening a very keen-looking, peculiarly-shaped, ivory-handled knife. "Have the goodness to let my business be my business. I have a very great mind to put this letter,"--and as he spoke he carefully cut round the seals--"and the other missives away in my writing-case until I am alone--" Here Uncle Paul unfolded a letter upon the top of which was stamped the Royal Arms, and smoothed it out upon the tablecloth--"and read it in peace, without being pestered by an impertinent boy. Bless my heart! Why, Pickle, my boy! Hark here! It's a letter from the Government. Jump up and shout, you young dog! Hang Bony and all his works! It's all right at last." "Why, what is it?" cried the boy excitedly, as his uncle went on eagerly reading the bold round hand that formed the formal contents. "Hark here! 'His Majesty's advisers see their way to recommend that the long-deferred grant for the sea-going natural history expedition to the West Coast of Africa to be carried out by Dr Robson at his earliest convenience be made, and that the grant to the full amount will be paid in to Dr Robson's bank as soon as formal application has been received.' There, sir, what do you think of that? At last! At last! Pickle, my boy, they say that everything comes at last to the man who waits, and here it is." "Oh, Uncle Paul!" cried the boy, with sparkling eyes. "I am so glad--so glad!" And as he spoke he dashed at the reader, to catch him tightly by the two sides of the collar of his coat. "Mind my clean cravat, Pickle." "Bother your clean cravat, uncle!" shouted the boy. "Look here, sir; you always promised me that if ever that money came and you went on that expedition, you'd play fair." "What do you mean, sir, by your playing fair?" "You said, uncle," cried the boy, sawing the collar he held to and fro, "that I should be very useful to you, and could help you no end over the netting and dredging and bottling specimens, and that you'd take me with you." "Ah," cried Uncle Paul, "that was when you were a nice, good, obedient boy, and hadn't learnt to say sharp impertinent things, and didn't go about setting free escaped prisoners and getting your uncle robbed." "Gammon, uncle! I see through you, and--I say, what does that sergeant want?" For there was the tramp of heavy feet, and the non-commissioned officer who had been at the head of the squad of men they had met, marched past the cottage window. _ |
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