"
"I should fancy so," said Mr. Fogo; "but you'll excuse me if I don't
quite see, yet, why you advise me to call on these people."
"No offence, sir. On'y they owns Kit's House, that's all."
"I see; and Kit's House is the place you have in your mind."
"That's et, sir."
"And these Dearloves, where do they live?"
"Furder up the river by two mile."
"Could you row me up this afternoon to see them?"
Caleb Trotter rose, and drew the back of his hand across his mouth.
"Wi' all the pleasure in life, sir, as Uncle Zachy said when he gi'ed
his da'ter in marriage."
In less than ten minutes Caleb had brought his boat round to the
quay. Mr. Fogo stepped in, and was presently seated in the stern and
meditatively listening while Caleb rowed--and talked--"like a
Trojan."
Here we may leave them for a while and return to the Admiral, whom we
left in the act of plunging furiously into his own house. It was not
the habit of that fiery little tar to hide his emotions from the wife
of his bosom.
"Emily!" he bellowed, "Em-i-ly, I say! Come down this instant."
The three Misses Buzza at the parlour window knew the tone, and
shuddered: Mrs. Buzza, up-stairs, heard, trembled, and obeyed.
"Yes, darling. What is it?"
"Fill the warming-pan at once. I'm going to bed.
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