"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.