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"Talking of Nelson," said Sir William, "have you heard the yarn that is told of Tom Cooke, the actor? He came on in the part of old Barnwell, and when stabbed forgot the words, and would have died speechless. His murderer whispered with agitation, 'For heaven's sake, say something—anything,' on which Tom, throwing up his little three-cornered [Pg 8]hat, shouted in his thick lisp, 'Nelson for ever!' and died amidst louder applause than was ever provoked by the finest strokes of Garrick or Siddons." "Aw, say, Bill," protested Maurice, "I'm tired an' wet as a water-logged plank. Let her go. I'll tell Dad, an' he kin come after her tomorrow." It was nearly noon when Billy, bending beneath a load of wild ducks, came up the path to the cottage. Stanhope, reading his step, groped his way out to meet him. "Ho, Billy Boy," he cried, holding out his hands..
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It proved as the Admiral had said. After a little brandy and water had been poured between the ashen lips, Mr Lawrence opened his eyes. They opened full upon his father, whose face was stooped close to him. Consciousness was tardy in her awakening, but on a sudden the prostrate, bleeding man recognised his father, and with that look of[Pg 440] recognition there must have come to him some vision of memory presenting scenes of his past. He frowned, sighed, turned his eyes upon Captain Acton, and closed them, but not as though he had fainted, for the lids were firm set. Billy chuckled. "Then you got my message off of Croaker, Maurice?" A little smile curled the corners of Maddoc's stern mouth. "Well, that's Pennsylvania Scroggie," he said, as though to himself. "Hard, bull-headed and a sharper in every legitimate sense but square as they make 'em. And you," he asked, pointedly, "what did you do?" "Do you expect to kill any ducks with that old iron?" he sneered, looking hard at Billy..
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