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They grasped hands. "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." "Two greys and a mallard," Billy answered over his shoulder. "Could'a killed more, but what's the use. They wouldn't keep; weather's too warm.".
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"But," said Captain Acton in a tone that marked the depression of his spirits, "you must remember that this visible girdle of sea has, even in brilliant weather and from the mast-head, but a narrow width, and we might even now be abreast of the Minorca which is sailing yonder, or yonder, hull and spars down to a fathom below the sensible edge." Maurice opened his mouth and protruded his stained and swollen tongue. And placing his battered hat jauntily on his scanty locks, Harry picked up his jug and was lost amid the shadows. "What's Billy been doin' now?" asked Wilson anxiously..
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