The Ocean Cat's Paw Part 52

"Oh yes, uncle. Did you think me long?"

"So long, my boy, that I was thinking of sending the boat to fetch you, for fear you should be converted into a Frenchman. Hang them all! How I do hate them and their nasty, smooth, polished ways!"

"Oh, uncle, you don't!" cried the boy indignantly. "I do, sir. How dare you contradict me! And I won't have you getting too fond of that French boy. He and his father set me thinking about old Bony, and as soon as I begin thinking about Bony I have a nasty taste in my mouth.-- Well, how did you get on?"

"I had a most delightful afternoon, uncle. Young Morny--let's see, he's Viscount Morny--"

"Viscount grandmother!" snapped out the doctor. "Anybody can be a viscount in France if he's got an income of a few hundred francs--francs in France of common silver. They rank with golden guineas in your grand old home."

"Oh, well, I don't know, uncle I only know that he's the nicest fellow I ever met."

"Gus.h.!.+" cried the doctor. "I won't have it, Rodd. I won't have you making too much of these French people. I don't like them."

"But you don't know them, uncle. Both the Count and his son are the most gentlemanly men I ever met."

"The most gentlemanly men you ever met!" cried Uncle Paul mockingly.

"Nice puppy you are to set yourself up for a judge! Very gentlemanly, to come in the dark with two boat-loads of savage-looking buccaneers to seize our schooner! And they would, too, if it hadn't been for Captain Chubb's courage."

"Oh, uncle, don't be unreasonable. The poor fellows were desperate.

Suppose you had been in such a position as they were."

"I am not going to suppose anything of the sort, sir," cried the doctor indignantly; "and look here, Rodney, I will not have you setting up your feathers like the miserable young c.o.c.kerel you are, and beginning to crow at me, just as if you were full grown. It's growing unbearable, Rodney, and I won't have it, sir. I am very much displeased with you, and you had better be off to your bunk at once before we come to an open quarrel. It is too much, sir, and if your poor mother were alive and could hear you talking like this she'd--she'd--she'd--there, I don't know what she wouldn't say."

"I do," said the boy.

"What would she say, sir?" snapped out the doctor.

Rodd stood silent in the darkness for a few moments as he stole his hand under the irate doctor's arm.

"She'd say that dear Uncle Paul had been thinking about old Bony, and that it had made him very cross with me about nothing at all."

Uncle Paul made a sound like the beginning of a speech that would not come, and the silence seemed deeper than ever, nothing being heard but the soft lapping of the water under the vessel's counter, as she glided slowly through the sea.

But Rodd felt the warm arm under which his hand nestled press it closer and closer to the old man's side, and that he was urged along the deck to keep pace with his elder slowly up and down, up and down, from stem to stern, for some minutes before that speech came--one which was quite different from that which Rodd fully expected to hear, for it was in Uncle Paul's natural tones once more, as he said very thoughtfully and in quite a confidential manner--

"Yes, very gentlemanly, Pickle, my boy; quite the n.o.bleman, I might say, and I am not at all surprised that you helped that poor lad to escape.

A little effeminate, but certainly a very nice lad. But I have been thinking about them ever since I came on board this afternoon, and I can't quite make out that Count. What's he doing here, my boy? On some mission, and connected with some jealousy and a stop being put to his cruise. I am not quite sure, Pickle."

"Rodney, uncle," said the boy mischievously.

"Pickle, you dog! Be quiet. I am talking sense. But I think I have worked it out. He betrayed himself. He's a naturalist, boy. He betrayed it in his looks and words as soon as he learned what I was about. Didn't you notice how eager he was to know about our pursuits?"

"Yes, uncle; I noticed that directly."

"Ah, I thought so. A naturalist--a born naturalist, Pickle, and in spite of his being a Frenchman I shall begin to feel a brotherly respect for a follower of the only pursuit worthy of a gentleman. Well, we had a very short sleep last night, so we have got a long one due to our credit to-night, and on the strength of that Captain Chubb has arranged to have supper quite early. This has been a queer day, Pickle, a very queer day, and I am not at all displeased, for I am beginning to think that we have got a very good time before us."

"What time, uncle?"

"Ash.o.r.e, my boy. What do you say to having a couple of the sailors with guns to keep us company while the rest are new-bottoming that brig?

Walks in the primeval forest, Rodd, wonderful botanical rambles, shooting birds of glorious plumage, most likely coming across the great man-ape, the chimpanzee. What do you say to that, my boy? Won't that be a grand change from fis.h.i.+ng and dredging and bottling specimens?"

"Uncle Paul, don't!" cried the boy.

"Don't? What do you mean, sir?"

"You were talking just now of our having a good long sleep to-night to make up for all we lost since we went to bed last."

"Well, sir, what of that?"

"How's a fellow to sleep, uncle, with such things as that to think of?

Why, I shan't get a wink for thinking of the big chimpanzees; and as for eating any supper now, why, my appet.i.te has completely gone."

"Stuff!" cried Uncle Paul, pressing the lad's arm to his side. "Rodd, my boy, we must cork a bottle or two and throw them overboard to-morrow, and then have a little practice with bullets in our guns. We may come across dangerous beasts there, leopards and the like, while that there are great man-apes in those forests of the West Coast there is not a doubt."

"Well, I think I could shoot at one of those great spotted cats, uncle, all tooth and claw; but wouldn't it be rather queer to shoot one of those big monkeys which look so much like human beings? I mean those big ones with ears like ours, and no tails."

"Humph! Ha! Well, I--Yes, all right, captain! We are coming down."

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

GREAT FRIENDS.

The days that followed the attempt to salve the brig after so strange an introduction to her commander and his son, fell calm all through the hot sunny time, and only that a pleasant cool breeze ushered in the evening and continued till the sun rose again, very little progress would have been made by the schooner and its consort, sailing east and south.

But n.o.body seemed troubled. When the French and English sailors were together they were the best of friends; while long conversations and arguments often took place between the doctor and his new friend, the skipper generally letting them have the cabin to themselves.

Sometimes they drifted into political questions and came very near to losing their tempers; but each mastered and kept down his opinions, for a genuine feeling of liking had arisen between them, and the Count seemed never weary of listening to Uncle Paul's disquisitions upon the marvels of natural history, nor of studying with him the wonders of creation which he had collected and had to show. Then day by day the brig, which was freed every day from as much water as she had gained during the night, sailed steadily on in the schooner's wake in full charge of her stern fierce-looking French mate--one of the most silent of men.

And while the Count was mostly with the doctor, literally taking lessons in pelagic lore, the two lads had become inseparable.

"Look here," said Rodd, almost hotly, one day, "if ever you say a word again about my helping you to escape at Dartmoor, you and I are going to leave off being friends."

Morny laughed, a pleasant, almost girlish smile lighting up his well-cut Gallic features.

"Why, Rodd," he cried, "isn't that rather hard? I used to think that was the most horrible time in my life, but I feel now that one part of it was the most delightful."

"There you go again," cried Rodd. "You are beginning."

"No, no, I wasn't. But I can't forget being a prisoner in England, and about all that I went through there with my father when he was bad so long with his wound."

"Bad so long with his wound?" said Rodd eagerly. "Ah! You may talk about that. Yes, I should like to hear. Tell me all about your being taken prisoners, and how it happened."

"For you never to be friends with me any more?" said the French lad maliciously.

"No, no, no. But I hate for you to be what you call grateful. You are quite a good sort of chap, and you speak our language so well that I forget you are not English sometimes, till you begin to be grateful to me for saving you, and then I feel that you are French. There, now you may tell me all about it--I mean about before you met me fis.h.i.+ng."