"His Stradivarius," answered the latter, and as that obviously conveyed
no meaning, "his violin."
"Oh! His fiddle! Why could n't he say so?--Jim!"
"Ay, ay, sir!"
"Another pewter."
"Ay, ay, sir." Jim hobbled off into the Admiral's house and Sir Peter
and Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn stood, facing each other, each grasping his pewter
of foaming ale.
"Well!" cried Sir Peter, "The King!"
But Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was not to be put off with so curt a toast.
Planting his feet firmly together, and throwing his chest out, he boomed
in a formal and stately manner, "His Most Gracious Majesty, King George
the Third, God bless him!"
The Admiral eyed him curiously for a moment, and seemed about to speak,
but thought better of it; and for an appreciable time the faces of both
gentlemen were hidden. When they came to light again it was with a
great sigh of satisfaction, and they both settled down on the bench for
quiet enjoyment.
"Now!" cried Sir Peter, "a pipe of tobacco with you, Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn?"
"Delighted!"
"St. Vincent. Prime stuff: and--in your ear--smuggled!"
"No!--reely?"
The two men leant over the candle and lighted their pipes with artistic
care.
"Was you at a banquet again last night, Brooke?" asked the Admiral,
during this process.
"Yes--yes," replied the other, with splendid indifference. "The
Guildhall. All the hote tonn."
"Lucky dog," said Sir Peter, smacking his lips: "turtle, eh?"
With the air of a man jaded by too much enjoyment Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn
condescended to enlarge. "As usual. Believe me, personally I should
much prefer seclusion and meditation in the company of poets and
philosophers, or dallying with Selina; but my friends are good enough to
insist. Only last night," with a side glance to watch the effect he was
producing, "Fox--my good friend, the Right Honourable Charles James
Fox--said, 'Brooke, my boy'--just like that--'Brooke, my boy, what would
our banquets be without you?'"
Sir Peter was deeply impressed. He felt himself in touch with the great
world. "Gobblessmysoul!" he cried. "What's your average?"
"I am sorry to say, I usually have to wrench myself away from my
precious Selina four nights a week."
"Think o' that, now!--By the way, how is she?"
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn turned his lack-lustre eyes fondly towards his house.
"Selina? Cheerful, sir. Selina is faint but pursuing. We have now
been in the holy state of matrimony five years, and never a word of
complaint has fallen from the dear soul's lips."
"Re-markable! And all that time Pomander Walk has seen scarcely
anything of her."
"She has been much occupied--much occupied," put in Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn,
with a deprecatory flourish of his pipe. And, as if in corroboration of
his statement, the door of his house opened and a pretty maidservant
came out, carrying a year-old baby in her arms. "Chck! chck!" said Mr.
Brooke-Hoskyn.
"Four olive-branches in five years!" cried Sir Peter, instinctively
sidling away from the baby.
"Of the female sex," explained Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn: "all of the female
sex. This is Number Four. Chck! chck!"
Mrs. Poskett, attracted by the baby, had hastily come out of her door
carrying her cat, Sempronius, in her arms, and was beckoning to the
maid.
"And another coming!" roared the Admiral. "That's right, Brooke! Do
your duty, and damn the consequences!--But let's have a boy next time,"
he went on, heedless of Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's frantic signals, "let 's
have a boy, and make a sailor of him!--Gobblessmysoul!" For Mrs.
Poskett, having dropped the cat in the garden, had come up to the tree,
and was simpering with pretty modesty.
[Illustration: "THAT'S RIGHT, BROOKE! DO YOUR DUTY, AND ---- THE
CONSEQUENCES!"]
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," said she. "Oh--don't put your pipes away,
please. I have been well trained. Alderman Poskett smoked even
indoors. May I sit down?" She planted herself between the two men.
"Now, go on talking, just as though I was n't here."
There was an awkward pause. Fortunately at this moment Jim created a
diversion by bringing the third pewter. To his amazement Mrs. Poskett
promptly seized it. "For me? How thoughtful of you!" she cried; and
while Sir Peter and Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn looked on too much astonished to
speak, she drained it as to the manner born.
"Jim, another," grunted the Admiral.
But Mrs. Poskett protested. "Oh, no, I could n't! Reely and posivitely
I could n't!"
"We was expecting Mr. Pringle, ma'am," said the Admiral, stiffly.
But the hint was entirely lost. "Ah, poor Mr. Pringle! Poor fellow!
An unhappy life, I fear; and him with one shoulder higher than the
other. Not that you notice it much when you look at him sideways.
There. I was rather alarmed when he arrived a month ago. Can't be too
careful, and me a lone woman. A musician, you know. One never knows
what their morals may be."
"Hoho!" shouted Sir Peter, "he's quiet enough--except when he 's making
a noise!"
Mrs. Poskett looked puzzled. She never could see a joke.
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn received it with his customary stony stare and at once
broke in. "He is some sort of cousin to the Misses Pennymint, I am
told?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Poskett, with a sniff, "we are told. But who knows?--I
fear--" she sank her voice to a mysterious whisper--"I fear he
is--hush!--a lodger!"