"Avast there!" said this personage in deep, albeit jovial tones, "ease away there, my lad,--stand by and let old Timbertoes come aboard!"
But the Gentleman-in-Powder was not to be cajoled. He sniffed.
"The hother door, me good feller!" he repeated, relentless but dignified, "and ring only, _if_ you pl--"
The word was frozen upon his horrified lip, for Timbertoes had actually set his blue-clad shoulder to the door, and now, bending his brawny back, positively began to heave at it with might and main, cheering and encouraging himself meanwhile with sundry nautical "yo ho's." And all this in broad daylight! In St. James's Square!
Whereupon ensued the following colloquy:
_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (pushing from within. Shocked and amazed). "Wot's this? Stop it! Get out now, d'ye hear!"
_Timbertoes_ (pushing from without. In high good humor). "With a ho, my hearties, and a merrily heave O!"
_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (struggling almost manfully, though legs highly agitated). "I--I'll give you in c-charge! I'll--"
_Timbertoes_ (encouraging an imaginary crew). "Cheerily! Cheerily! heave yo ho!"
_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (losing ground rapidly. Condition of legs indescribable). "I never--see nothing--like this here! I'll--"
_Timbertoes_ (all shoulders, whiskers and pig-tail). "With a heave and a ho, and up she rises O!"
_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (extricating his ruffled dignity from between wall and door). "Oh, very good,--I'll give you in charge for this, you--you feller! Look at me coat! I'll send for a constable. I'll--"
_Timbertoes_. "Belay, my lad! This here's Number Five, ain't it?"
_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (glancing down apprehensively at his quivering legs). "Yes,--and I'll--"
_Timbertoes_. "Cap'n Beverley's craft, ain't it?"
_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (re-adjusting his ruffled finery). "_Mister_ Beverley occipies this here res-eye-dence!"
_Timbertoes_ (_nodding_). "Mister Beverley,--oh, ah, for sure. Well, is 'e aboard?"
_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (with lofty sarcasm). "No, 'e ain't! Nor a stick, nor a stock, nor yet a chair, nor a table. And, wot's more, 'e ain't one to trouble about the likes o' you, neether."
_Timbertoes_. "Belay, my lad, and listen. I'm Jerry Tucker, late Bo'sun in 'is Britannic Majesty's navy,--'Bully-Sawyer,' Seventy-four. D'ye get that? Well, now listen again. According to orders I hove anchor and bore up for London very early this morning, but being strange to these 'ere waters, was obleeged to haul my wind and stand off and on till I fell in with a pilot, d'ye see. But, though late, here I am all ship-shape and a-taunto, and with despatches safe and sound. Watch, now!" Hereupon the Bo'sun removed the glazed hat, held it to his hairy ear, shook it, nodded, and from somewhere in its interior took out and held up three letters.
"D'ye see those, my lad?" he inquired.
_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (haughtily). "I ain't blind!"
_Timbertoes_. "Why then--you'll know what they are, p'raps?"
_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (witheringly). "Nor I ain't a fool, neether."
_Timbertoes_ (dubiously). "Ain't you, though?"
_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (legs again noticeably agitated). "No, I ain't. I've got all _my_ faculties about _me_."
_Timbertoes_ (shaking head incredulously). "Ah! but where do you stow 'em away?"
_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (legs convulsed). "And--wot's more, I've got my proper amount o' limbs too!"
_Timbertoes_. "Limbs? If it's legs you're meaning, I should say as you'd got more nor your fair share,--you're all legs, you are! Why, Lord! you're grow'd to legs so surprising, as I wonder they don't walk off with you, one o'these here dark nights, and--lose you!"
But at this juncture came Peterby, sedate, grave, soft of voice as became a major-domo and the pink of a gentleman's gentleman, before whose quick bright eye the legs of the Gentleman-in-Powder grew, as it were, suddenly abashed, and to whom the Bo'sun, having made a leg, forthwith addressed himself.
"Sarvent, sir--name o' Jerry Tucker, late Bo'sun, 'Bully-Sawyer,' Seventy-four; come aboard with despatches from his Honor Cap'n Chumly and my Lady Cleone Meredith. To see Mr. Barnabas Beverley, Esquire. To give these here despatches into Mr. Beverley Esquire's own 'and. Them's my orders, sir."
"Certainly, Bo'sun," said Peterby; and, to the Gentleman-in-Powder, his bow was impressive; "pray step this way."
So the Bo'sun, treading as softly as his wooden leg would allow, stumped after him upstairs and along a thickly carpeted corridor, to a certain curtained door upon which Peterby gently knocked, and thereafter opening, motioned the Bo'sun to enter.
It was a small and exquisitely furnished, yet comfortable room, whose luxurious appointments,--the rich hangings, the rugs upon the floor, the pictures adorning the walls,--one and all bore evidence to the rare taste, the fine judgment of this one-time poacher of rabbits, this quiet-voiced man with the quick, bright eyes, and the subtly humorous mouth. But, just now, John Peterby was utterly serious as he glanced across to where, bowed down across the writing-table, his head pillowed upon his arms, his whole attitude one of weary, hopeless dejection, sat Barnabas Beverley, Esquire. A pen was in his lax fingers, while upon the table and littering the floor were many sheets of paper, some half covered with close writing, some crumpled and torn, some again bearing little more than a name; but in each and every case the name was always the same. Thus, John Peterby, seeing this drooping, youthful figure, sighed and shook his head, and went out, closing the door behind him.
"Is that you, John?" inquired Barnabas, with bowed head.
"No, sir, axing your pardon, it be only me, Jerry Tucker, Bo'sun, --'Bully-Sawyer,' Seventy--"
"Bo'sun!" With the word Barnabas was upon his feet. "Why, Bo'sun," he cried, wringing the sailor's hand, "how glad I am to see you!"
"Mr. Beverley, sir," began the Bo'sun, red-faced and diffident by reason of the warmth of his reception, "I've come aboard with despatches, sir. I bring you a letter from his Honor the Cap'n, from 'er Grace the Duchess, and from Lady Cleone, God bless her!"
"A letter from--her!" Then taking the letters in hands that were strangely unsteady, Barnabas crossed to the window, and breaking the seal of a certain one, read this:
DEAR MR. BARNABAS (the 'Beverley' crossed out),--Her Grace, my dear god-mother, having bullied my poor Tyrant out of the house, and quarrelled with me until she is tired, has now fixed her mind upon you. She therefore orders her dutiful god-daughter to write you these, hoping that thereby you may be induced to yield yourself a willing slave to her caprices and come down here for a few days. Though the very dearest and best of women, my god-mother, as you may remember, possesses a tongue, therefore--be warned, sir! My Tyrant at this precise moment sits in the 'round house,' whither he has retreated