It is a sorry business to enquire into what men think, when we are every
day only too uncomfortably confronted with what they do. Moreover, the
science of psychology--for that is what we are talking about--is as yet
but a _demoiselle_ among the sciences; and that writer carries the least
conviction who tries to wind his tale about her immature coils.
Therefore we will not enquire into the young Duke’s thoughts, but merely
relate his actions: we will leave his psychology to the fishes of the
tideless sea, while we let him confront us with all his vanity.
The time came when the young Duke awoke. Now the winds of the sea were
playing about him, the sun was certainly not where he had left it, and
the angle of his deck-chair was peculiar. The world was very dark. He
looked upon the sea and found it odd, and he looked upon the land and
did not find it at all.
“Ho!” cried the Duke. “Where is the land, the land of France? Ho there,
Captain Tupper! What have you done with the fair land of France? I do
not see it anywhere. Our French allies will be exceedingly annoyed when
they hear we have mislaid them. And do my eyes deceive me, or is that a
wave making for us over there?”
“It is blowing moderate from the southeast, your Grace.”
“Moderate, upon my word! Captain Tupper, moderation sickens me. Ho, I
see some land over there!”
“We have just left Nice behind, your Grace.”
“I sincerely hope, Captain Tupper, that you are not among those who
affect to despise Nice. Queen Victoria was very fond of Nice. It may not
be Deauville or Coney Island, Captain Tupper, but Nice can still offer
attractions of a homely sort.”
“But I understood, your Grace, that----”
“These are strange words, Captain Tupper! But proceed.”
“--that our direction was Naples.”
“Naples? Good God, Naples! And look, there’s another wave making
straight for us! Hang on, Tupper. I’ll see you are all right. You
sailors aren’t what you were in the days when you each had a port in
every----”
“A wife in every port is the correct form of the libel, your Grace.”
“But hang it, I call this, don’t you, a damned rough sea? However, I
feel very gay this evening. I have just had an idea. Now, Tupper, let me
hear no more of this high-handed talk about turning your back on Nice.”
“But, your Grace, we are making for Naples!”
“Your obsession for Naples seems to me singularly out of place on a
windy evening. I think you might consider me a little, even though I am
on my own yacht. I detest, I deplore, Naples. Put back to Nice, Captain
Tupper. I am for Paris!”
“For Paris, your Grace!”
“For Paris, Captain Tupper, with a laugh and a lance and a
tara-tara-diddle for to break a pretty heart!”