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CHAPTER XVIII THE METTLE OF THE BREED "Ner me, either. I guess we'll have to give up the hunt fer t'night, Maurice. Anyways, we don't know jest how to work ol' Harry's fairy arrer." "Well," said Captain Acton, "I may say of Nelson as Pope said of Dryden: Virgilium tantum vidi. I was on the Hard when two Naval officers came ashore. I was thinking of other matters, and scarcely observed them until they were abreast or a little past me. Then my glance going to one I instantly perceived he was Nelson. His companion, I believe, was Troubridge. In the glimpse I got of Nelson's face I was struck by its paleness and careworn appearance. He looked at least fifteen years older than his age. They passed rapidly out of sight. I cannot express the emotions which that one-armed little figure excited in me—St Valentine's Day, the Nile, Copenhagen!".
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"Yes, a corn-cob pipe," he repeated weakly. Watland came puffing up, his round face red and perspiring. "Gee!" he panted, "I've been all the way to the store. Had to get some sulphur fer Ma. She found a wood-tick that old Sport scratched off him on the floor, an' she swears it's a bed-bug; an' now she's goin' to burn this sulphur in all the rooms." "I know, sir," she exclaimed with the vehement indignation and contempt conveyed by that perfection of art which conceals art and which is a gift of intuition beyond the reach of those not born with it, "that Sir William Lawrence has a son, and that he was dismissed from the Navy for a brutal, drunken outrage of which he alone, of all the gentlemen and officers in the Service, was capable." "It ought'a be dark," protested Billy, "but I'll try it anyway." He lifted the rabbit foot to his face and breathed some words upon it. Then in measured tones he recited:.
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