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Billy turned quickly. "No more of that," he said. "This is my funeral—and the teacher's. Everybody else keep out of it." "Erie out in her boat?" he asked, casually. "I don't hear her voice, or her whistle." "Here is her dog anyhow!" exclaimed the Admiral, as the little animal marched into the room and stood near Lucy's chair with fore-foot lifted as though she awaited her mistress..
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This was enough for Mr Lawrence, who perfectly understood that all the sentiments which were likely to be delivered at that table he had heard over and over again. He rose, made a bow to the landlord and the company, and walked from the room to the adjacent room, which was made a reading-room of by the pilots, smacksmen, and others, and sitting down at the long table, took a sheet of some[Pg 130] paper which was there for the accommodation of the frequenters, and after thinking deeply, undisturbed by the sound of singing which started next door, he began to write in pencil, obviously making a draft of a communication he proposed to copy there, or more probably elsewhere. Billy turned slowly, his fingers fumbling with his cotton braces. He looked at the noxious dose in the tumbler, then at his mother's face. "All right," he said gently, "I'll take 'em, Ma; give 'em here." "Then come clean, Jacobs. Now then, what's your game?" "Mr Lawrence paints the voyage to the West Indies in very tempting colours," answered Lucy..
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