"Oh, Miss Barbara!" repeated Basil, breathlessly.
"Has Doctor Johnson bitten you?" asked Marjolaine, mischievously.
"Oh, that gifted bird!" exclaimed Basil, rapturously.
"Did he speak?" asked Marjolaine, while Barbara panted expectant.
"Speak!--Ah!--" Basil had no words.
Doctor Sternroyd's window was violently thrown open by Jack. It was
nearly dark in the Walk, and Jack was reckless. "Marjory!" he called.
Marjory was very much startled. Anybody might come out at any moment.
"Oh! take care!" she cried, as she ran up to within whispering distance
of him.
Barbara, with bent head and blushing cheeks was trying to keep Basil to
the point. "What did he say, Mr. Basil?"
"Come closer!" whispered Jack to Marjolaine, and after assuring herself
that no one was looking, she crept inside the little garden.
Basil came impulsively towards Barbara. "Shall I tell you? Dare I tell
you?" he asked passionately, yet shyly.
"You know best," said Barbara, making an invisible pattern on the grass
with her dainty foot.
Basil took his courage in both hands. "He said--it was all in one
breath--He said, 'O-burn-your-lungs-and-liver-you-lubberly-son-of-a-
lop-eared-weevil-tell-Barbara-you-love-her!'"
"Oh, Mr. Basil!" sighed Barbara, and threw herself headlong into his
arms.
"But it's true!--It's true!" he cried enthusiastically. "Come! let me
tell you my own way!" And without more ado, he picked her up and
carried her bodily into the Gazebo.
"It's perfectly monstrous!" Jack was explaining angrily to Marjolaine,
who was now under his window. "The old fossil's brought two eggs, a red
herring, and a pot of currant jelly!"
"Poor Jack!" exclaimed Marjolaine sympathetically, yet with a note of
laughter in her voice.
"Is that rations for a grown man?" asked Jack pathetically. "Says he'll
make an omelette! Two eggs! An omelette! Ho!"
Here the Eyesore crept cautiously back to his post. He had not dared
come in broad daylight, but now that it was nearly dark he hoped he
would be unobserved.
From the Gazebo came the voices of the other lovers in long-drawn notes.
"My own!" said Basil, in a stupendous bass.
"My Basil!" echoed Barbara.
Rapture. Oblivion. An endless embrace.
"Can't you send that object for food?" said Jack, pointing to the
Eyesore.
"I daren't speak to him," answered Marjolaine, with a little shiver of
dislike. "He always turns out to be somebody else. Jack! if you 'll be
good, I 'll get it myself!"
"Angel! But make haste! I'm starving!"
"If you hear me singing, look out of the window," whispered Marjolaine,
kissing her hand to him. And with that she ran lightly into her own
house, and Jack retired to wait with what patience he could muster.
"And now, what is the next thing to do?" asked Basil, rising and leading
Barbara towards the house.
"We must tell Ruth," said Barbara, with a sound practical idea of
clinching the matter. There should be no mistake this time.
"Yes! at once!" cried Basil, nobly. "Oh!" he exclaimed, with a burst of
grateful sentiment, "I 'll buy Doctor Johnson a golden chain!"
Barbara's pretty head was reposing affectionately on his shoulder. "And
I 'll wear it for him. The dear bird."
"The dear, dear bird!" they repeated in melodious unison.
Not otherwise did Romeo and Juliet breathe soft nothings in the gardens
of Verona. Not otherwise did Paolo and Francesca talk exquisite
nonsense when they had very injudiciously left off reading. Not
otherwise--but why pursue the subject? You and I have been just as
happy, and just as foolish.
Ruth brought Mrs. Poskett, resplendent in a new cap and various other
seductive devices, out of the house. Barbara fluttered to her sister.
"Dear Ruth! Come in quickly! Basil and I have such news for you!"
Ruth saw it at a glance. At last they had shed one form of idiocy to
take on another. Now, perhaps, she would enjoy a little peace. "Very
well," she said. Then she made a low curtsey to Mrs. Poskett, and said,
meaningly, "Courage--Lady Antrobus!"
Alas, poor Admiral! The knell of thy freedom has sounded. Shut thyself
in thy house as thou wilt: close thy shutters; make fast thy doors; yea,
train the little brass cannon on the Walk: nothing will help. Thy fair
enemy is cruising at the harbour's mouth, with pennons flaunting to the
breeze, and all her deadly armoury of sighs, tears, threats, reproaches
and languishing glances made ready for action; and nothing thou canst do
will serve. Through long years thou hast sailed light-heartedly from
many ports, leaving broken, or, at any rate, damaged hearts behind thee.
Now the Hour of Retribution has struck, and the Avenger is here. Thy
day of conquests is past, and it is thou who wilt be led captive in
chains of roses. There is none to sympathise with thee. On the
contrary, it is my firm conviction that the whole Walk will hang out
banners to celebrate thy defeat.
*CHAPTER XIII*
*IN WHICH ADMIRAL SIR PETER ANTROBUS IS MORE THAN
EVER DETERMINED TO FIRE THE LITTLE BRASS GUN*
[Illustration: Chapter XIII headpiece]
Mrs. Poskett found herself--if you did not count the Eyesore: and nobody
ever had counted him, yet--alone in the Walk. The sun had set, and the
evening twilight itself had almost merged into night. The river gleamed
a pale green, as if it were loath to surrender the last remnant of day.
It was a propitious hour for amorous dalliance, but Mrs. Poskett felt
she had much to do ere she could hope to be engaged in any such pleasant
pastime. She sat some moments under the elm considering her position.
She was face to face with a difficult problem. Here she was, under the
elm, and there was Sir Peter, safely barricaded in his own house. That
he was not in a good humour she knew. The house looked forbidding. The
door was tightly closed. The windows were shut, and the blinds drawn.
Somewhere behind those drawn blinds the Admiral was fuming. She yearned
to hold his hand and comfort him and soothe his feelings, wounded, as
well she knew, by the sneers and open mutiny of the Walk. But how to
get at him? She could not go to his house. She could not call him.
All the conventions and proprieties rose up like an impregnable wall
against either of those courses. And even if she called him, he would
not come. On the contrary, he would retire like Hamlet to some more
remote part of his ramparts, and pretend he had n't heard her. She must
employ some stratagem. But what stratagem? Pomander Walk was not a
good nursery for stratagems, she thought, little knowing how many plots
and schemes and conspiracies had been concocted and were still seething
all around her.
She was on the point of giving up in despair when she caught sight of
the Eyesore. She looked at his back--which was all she could see of
him--and brooded a long time. At last she rose and stole over to him on
tip-toe. She felt for a coin in the little bead-embroidered bag that
hung from her wrist. Two or three times she opened her mouth as if
about to speak, but each time she closed it again upon the unspoken
word. Finally, however, she made up her mind.
"My good man," she said, rather condescendingly.
The Eyesore never stirred. She might as well have addressed one of the
chain-posts. She tried again: this time a trifle more urbanely.
"Mister!--"
A sort of wave of acknowledgment ran down the back of the Eyesore's
coat, just as a horse shivers at the touch of a fly; but that was all.
She made one more effort: now with a courteous appeal. "Sir!--You threw
Sempronius into the river on Saturday--here's a crown for you."
I cannot explain what connection there was in her mind between the crime
and the reward, except that in some confused way she considered the
former as a sort of introduction entitling her to address him.
The Eyesore only put his hand behind his back with the open palm upward.
When Mrs. Poskett had dropped the huge coin into it, he brought it
slowly round, bit it, spat on it, and pocketed it. But he said no word.
Mrs. Poskett proceeded hastily, indicating the Admiral's house. "Now I
want you to knock at that door."
The Eyesore followed the direction of her finger with a bleary eye.
What! He knock at the door of his enemy and persecutor! and be captured
by him! That was her little game, was it? And she thought to lure him
to his doom with a miserable bait of five shillings. But he'd show her!
To Mrs. Poskett's amazement, alarm, and admiration, he picked up a
stone, hurled it with unerring aim at the door, and incontinently bolted
round the corner. Mrs. Poskett fled behind the elm and awaited the
upshot with a beating heart.
Jim appeared, red-faced, at the door. He looked up and down the Walk,
but seeing it empty, muttered, "Cuss them boys!" and was turning to go
in again, when Mrs. Poskett called him.
"Good evening, Mr. Jim," she said, in her blandest tones.
"'Evening, mum!" answered Jim, touching his forelock. "Them boys ought
to be drownded, is what I says; and I wish I had the doing of it."
"You have a responsible post, Mr. Jim."
"Ay, ay, mum. Bosun o' the Admiral's gig."
"Oh, more than that, Mr. Jim. Chief officer, and cook, and
gardener--what lovely peas!" It was much too dark to see the peas, but
she knew they grew all around Jim's heart.
"Ah," he assented, and added with meaning, "takes a oncommon lot o'
moistenin', though."
"It is thirsty weather, Mr. Jim." Mrs. Poskett was searching in her bag
again.