Текст книги "Doctor Syn on the High Seas"

Автор книги: Russell Thorndike

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The Squire crouched panting against the paneling, breathing hard.

Doctor Syn retreated slowly, facing the Squire, until he passed the

fallen sword.

Then, with a superb gesture of command, he pointed to it with his own

weapon and said, “Pick it up.”

“And you’ll spit me as I do it,” snarled the Squire ungenerously.

“Had that been my way, I could have done it easier three seconds ago,”

replied the Doctor.

To gain time and recover his gasping breath, the Squire slowly

straightened himself, wiped the sweat from his brow, and then advanced

towards his sword with weary steps.

“Make haste sir,” cried Syn, “lest my patience snap. But I have no

interest to kill a man unarmed.”

Since everyone’s eyes were up on him, no one saw or heard the secret

panel behind the Squire’s back slide open. It was Syn who first saw the

farmer standing there. The Squire was about to pick up his sword when

the parson said, “For heaven’s sake, look behind you!”

“Another trick to catch me unawares?” sneered the Squire.

“I have never tricked you,” replied Syn. “I have fought fair. But

it seems that other hands than mine must kill you.”

The Squire realized that all eyes were upon something behind his

back, and so he slowly turned.

A bewildered look came over the Squire’s face as he tried to

recollect where he had seen this man before who now faced him with a

leveled pistol in his hand and grim, determined hate upon his face. He

was not long in doubt.

“I am Esther Sommer ’s father,” he said, in a hoarse whisper. “I have

come to

– 42 -

put Paid to your account.”

A flash, a deafening report, and then, amidst a stench of gunpowder,

they saw the Squire’s great body crumple down the boards. Nothing moved

save the twitching of his sword-hand and the curling smoke from the

steady barrel of the pistol.

It was a strange voice that brought the onlookers back to a state of

reality.

“This looks to me like murder.”

The speaker, who was quietly closing the door through which he had

entered, was richly dressed. He was short in stature, but broad shouldered and heavily built. His complexion was browned from foreign

sun, and his gold ear-rings indicated the sea as a profession. Unlike

the prevailing fashion, he wore his hair short-cropped and his black,

pointed beard gave him more the appearance of an Elizabethan than a

Georgian. While he smiles, as he was doing then, and showed his fine

white teeth, he was not unattractive. About the age of Doctor Syn, he

looked older, for he had lived hard and run the pace. His bearing

conveyed a recklessness which to feminine eyes at least appeared

romantic. Booted and spurred, he carried his riding cloak over his arm,

but as he advanced easily into the circle of light he tossed it from him

to a distant chair. It was then that Imogene recognized him, for with a

cry of joy she sprang forward, seized his hands in hers and said,

“Nicholas!”

“Of course,” observed Syn to Tony. “It is the Squire’s nephew.”

“And come in the nick of time to close my uncle’s eyes, it seems.”

His manner was almost jocular as he set the girl aside, with a

friendly patting of her hands, and surveyed the dying man upon the

floor.

Not even the pains of death which gripped him could disguise the

hatred of the Squire as he asked, “Have you come to crow at my death,

young cockerel?”

“I hurried from Spain, sir,” replied the nephew, “in response to your

last letter threatening to cut me off from the estate. I took the

precaution of calling upon the family lawyer in London, and no doubt you

will be desolated to learn that you have no means of carrying out such a

piece of petty spite. He was setting out for Oxford tomorrow in order to

inform you of this himself, but, as you see, I have forestalled him with

the good news.”

“I would have made him find the means,” replied the Squire.

“I rather think that the little misfortune which I see you in, dear

Uncle, will give me the estate within the hour. I have seen death writ

on faces before now.”

“Aye, I am done for this time,” went on the Squire, speaking with

increasing difficulty. “Had I lived tonight, I would have married the

girl, whom you had lost to the parson there. I warrant her child have

been a bar to your inheritance.”

“What does he mea n, Imogene?” asked the nephew.

“It means, Nicholas, that I am betrothed to Doctor Syn,” she

answered. “Tonight my mother and myself were brought here forcibly, but

Doctor Syn and Mr. Cobtree came to rescue us. Your uncle tried to kill

my lover, who pr oved himself the better swordsman. Indeed, your uncle

was disarmed when the shot was fired.”

Nicholas looked at the man who still held the pistol. “Why, it’s

Sommers. You lived across the river. I remember. You had a daughter.

I warned my uncle at the time that his peccadilloes would get him into

trouble. I think I heard she died.”

“Aye,” replied Sommers. “He killed her.”

– 43-

“So you kill him,” said Nicholas. “Well, all I can say, my friend,

is that you are in something of a fix. A duel’s a duel, and murder’s

murder.”

“I’ll swing for it if needs be. I am glad,” replied Sommers.

“Tut, man, let’s have no more corpses. While uncle obliges me by

dying as quickly as he can, I’ll think what’s best to do.”

As a reproof to his c allous hatred for his uncle, Doctor Syn took

cushions from chairs and propped the dying man into a more comfortable

position.

“Leave me alone,” said the Squire. “But give me wine.”

Imogene poured it out and took it to him. He tried to drink, but

could not. Instead he muttered to her through his clenched teeth:

“Will you tell me something, child?”

“What is it?” answered Imogene.

“That fellow Sommers,” he went on with an effort. “Regard him well,

and tell me how came such an ugly devil to possess so beautiful a

daughter. Yes, Sommers, your Esther was a pretty wench. I wonder now if

I’ll meet the jade?”

They were his last words. Doctor Syn knelt by him and felt the

heart. Then he slowly rose and said, “He is dead.”

“Well, I’ll be no hypocrite,” said Nicholas. “I always hated him.”

He picked up the dead man’s waistcoats and felt in the pockets. In

one of them he found a key, which he carried to a cabinet by the

fireplace. This he unlocked and searched amongst the many papers it

contained. At last he lit on a document, which he opened in haste. He

scanned it through and then said aloud, “To my nephew Nicholas Tappitt,

all my estate.” Then he looked at the others with a smile and added,

“So the rascal did not alter his will. My visit to the lawyer was not

true. I said it to frighten him. I think he could have left his money

where he would. However, it seems that I am safe. And now, gentlemen,

let us see about giving him a more regular death than he enjoyed. If

you gentlemen will agree to my plan, there will be no question of

murder. At dawn tomorrow Doctor Syn, with Mr. Cobtree here as second,

will meet my uncle in an affair of honour. As his nephew I will act for

him. I know a surgeon in the town who for a purse of guineas wi ll keep

his mouth shut, and certify death as regular. We’ll play the farce in

Magdalen Fields. It would seem a natural meeting-place. No possible

blame can fall on Doctor Syn for killing him, unless it is a rap over

the knuckles from the University Authorities. What do you say?”

The effrontery of this suggestion seemed to the others so

preposterous that they at first emphatically refused. But gradually

Nicholas made them see that only by such means could Sommers be saved

from trial.

“You may safely leave this to me to carry through,” said Nicholas.

“All you have to do is escort the ladies back to Oxford, and await me at

dawn in the Fields.”

“But why in Magdalen Fields,” asked Cobtree. “It could be managed

better here.”

“The pistol-shots must be heard in a more public place,” explained

Nicholas. “It will be the publicity of the affair that will deceive. I

will bring the body by coach. The surgeon and I will lay it on the

sward. Doctor Syn and I will fire the pistols into the air. The corpse

will be lifted back into the coach, and Sommers is at liberty to stay in

bed if he wishes. As to my servants here, they will obey me implicity.

They ever had a good regard for me, and hated my uncle. Let us release

your mother, Imogene, and I will send you by coach back to Oxford.”

– 44 -

“The dominance of Nicholas succeeded, and since nobody had a better

plan, they all took an oath of secrecy and agreed to carry out the grim

game. Vastly relieved at his salvation and accomplishment, the man

Sommers went the way he came, by boat. They found Imogene’s mother in

sad condition. The terror which she had gone through, added to the

physical pains from the brutalities that had been practiced on her, had

affected her poor brain, and they took her back to White Friars only

half conscious. Nicholas, who had locked the door upon his uncle’s

body, accompanied them in order to arrange with the surgeon, whom he

proposed to take back with him to Iffley. The good landlady at White

Friars was awaiting news anxiously, and was overjoyed to find the rescue

had been accomplished. The three men then left the ladies to her care,

and proceeded to the house of the questionable surgeon.

Accustomed to be called out in the night, they found no difficulty in

awakenin g him.

“It is by no means the first time that the rogue has done a dirty

piece of work at Iffley,” whispered Nicholas as they waited for him to

dress. “He’ll do whatever I ask of him, for I know enough to get the

rascal’s name struck off the Rolls.”

And so it proved. For twenty guineas he promised to arrange things

to their liking. He was perfectly willing to accompany Nicholas to

Iffley, for he was promised good wine upon arrival and so they went

their way, while Tony went back to Queen’s College w ith Doctor Syn,

where they kept vigil waiting for the dawn.

As they watched the night sky, Tony said, “I only hope that the

killing of this bully will not ruin your career, Christopher.”

“I might have killed him there,” said Syn. “At least I have not his

blood on my conscience. And I honestly think it would have gone hard

with Sommers at a trail. A jury seldom finds a murder justifiable,

though this one was, I think. I wonder what the Chancellor’s views will

be. My good Tony, how glad I shall be when we know the upshot of this

somewhat deceitful business!”

At the first paling of the sky, the two companions, muffled in heavy

cloaks, crossed the Courtyard, and let themselves through the gate with

the key which they had borrowed from the porter’s lodge some hours

before, for Doctor Syn had realized that the rousing of a sleepy porter

would occasion noise and attract attention from the students. Once in

the street, they walked briskly toward Magdalen.

On the way Tony rallied his friend upon his gloom y countenance:

“At least you are about to fight a duel, with absolute certainty of

killing your man, and the finest fighter can hardly say that.”

“I only hope this Nicholas Tappitt will not bungle things,” replied

the Doctor.

“Not he,” said Cobtre e. “He is as anxious as we are to save this

Sommers.”

“I have been wondering about his motives,” went on Syn. “He did not

strike me as a man who would take much risk for another than himself.

And I think this plot of his is to insure his own safety. A fter all, he

was in the room when the shot was fired. He was admitted by the

servants in the hall. He was known to have a hatred for his uncle, and

he had everything to gain by this death. It occurs to me that he does

not altogether trust us. Suppose we had chosen to side with the man

Sommers, our Nicholas would have been in an ugly case.”

“How could we have done that?” cried honest Tony.

“Of course we could have done no such thing, but I think he measured

us by his own character.”

– 45 -

In this Doctor Syn was right, for despite his easy manner, Nicholas

realized that his situation might be dangerous. There were those on his

ship now moored in London Docks who knew he had gone in haste to Oxford

on a quarrel with his uncle, and where his own safety was concerned he

trusted no one. Doctor Syn’s cloth, and Cobtree’s legal profession, and

the fact that both were men of honour, did not weigh with him. He

imagined that anybody would commit perjury if it could be safely done.

After all, he di d not wish his uncle’s death to be too questionable, and

the duel he was staging would satisfy the public mind. They would say

that Bully Tappitt had reaped what he had sown, and that the noted

duelist, who had been a menace too long, had met just desserts.

Whatever may be said of Nicholas Tappitt—and all through his life

bad things were said of him—he did not bungle things. Hardly had

Doctor Syn and Cobtree taken their positions by the field gate when they

saw the Iffley coach approaching. They approaching. They opened the

gate in readiness, and the coachman drove his team to the centre of the

field. The surgeon alighted with his case of instruments, followed by

Nicholas with the case of pistols.

Syn and Cobtree went to aid them in the grim task of removing the

body from the coach.

“Before we have him out,” whispered Nicholas, “it would be as well if

one of you gentlemen were to take a look in the ditch yonder. That hedge

affords good shelter, and with so many strangers in Oxford for the Fair,

it is a likely spot for a homeless tramp to crawl.”

Doctor Syn immediately hurried to the spot, took a quick look round,

and then ran back with the disquieting news that two gypsies were there,

one with his head beneath a coat and the other with closed eyes and

snoring heavily. Indeed, as they listened they could hear the noise

across the meadow.

“If they do not wake before our pistol-shots,” whispered Nicholas,

“their presence will help us, and the news will fly through Oxford that

this affair of h onour was conducted regularly. Let us quickly get the

body to the grass.”

After some difficulty they managed to get the stiffened body through

the door, and laid it face upwards in the grass. Nicholas dragged away

the cloak it had been wrapped in, folded it neatly and put it on the

ground. He then brought from the coach his uncle’s brocaded coat and

waistcoat which the dead man had divested the night before, and had also

had the foresight to add a hat to this deception.

“Now, Doctor Syn,” he went on, “take this pistol and fire into the

ground when I signal. Measure fifteen paces from the body, and then

strip to your shirt. And now, Mister Surgeon, your bottle.”

The surgeon handed a vial containing blood, which Nicholas uncorked

and poured upon the dark stain that had congealed upon his uncle’s

shirt. He then poured a little on the dead man’s lips.

“This is my own blood,” he whispered to Cobtree with a smile. “I

never thought to shed it for my uncle, but we blood is essential, and

the surgeon took it from my arm this last half-hour. Aye, that looks

convincing. Now, Mr. Cobtree, take up your position as your friend’s

second. We must be quick. It’s getting light and those rascals may

awake.”

By this time Doctor Syn had taken his fifteen paces, and had placed

his hat and clothes upon the ground.

“Have you seen to the priming of the pistols?” asked Cobtree. “We

should look foolish were they to misfire.”

– 46-

“I reloaded them myself,” replied Nicholas. “They are splendid weapons

and have never been charged more carefully.”

Then, after Cobtree had taken his position by the surgeon, and the

coachman had driven away to what would appear safe distance, Nicholas

stood above his dead uncle. Since he could still hear the snoring from

the ditch, he risked speaking aloud, addressing the corpse at his feet.

“Faith, Uncle, you are living up to your reputation, and are fighting

your last duel from the wrong side of the grave.”

He then nodded to Doctor Syn. The two pistols flashed almost

simultaneously, startling the already wakening rooks from the trees

above them, and as the frightened gypsies peered over the edge of the

ditch they saw the surgeon running with his case of instruments toward

the fallen man. They saw Doctor Syn hand his pistol to his second, and

as he leisurely put on his clothes he said:

“Ask if the wound is serious, Tony. Also whether he would wish me as

a parson to say a prayer.”

Tony approached, and the surgeon, looking up, said: “He is dead. But

I will e xtract the bullet while the body’s warm. The coroner will need

it.”

It was then that Doctor Syn perceived that they had made an error.

The pistol used by Sommers had been a clumsy weapon, and would have

fired no doubt a leaden ball of heavier caliber than dueling bullets.

He was reckoning without the thoroughness of Nicholas, for, as the

gypsies drew near, the surgeon held up in his pinchers, a silvered

bullet wet with blood.

“Lodged in the ribbone just below the heart,” he said.

“Fit it to the barrel, Mr. Cobtree,” said Nicholas. “Then we can

report to the Coroner that all was regular.”

“Aye, it fits,” replied Cobtree, marveling at this piece of

ingenuity.

“An affair of honour, eh, gentlemen?” asked one of the gypsies.

“What do you suppose it is if otherwise, you fool,” growled Nicholas,

making a fine attempt to show frayed nerves. “It is no picnic,

certainly. This gentleman is my uncle, and he is dead. Although I

acted for him, I will own that he gave the affront and forced the fight.

This gentleman who killed him is a parson from Queen’s College, and

acted throughout in all honour. The fight was fairly fought. You agree

with that of course, Mr. Cobtree?”

Tony bowed assent. “And now, you rogues,” went on Nicholas to the

gypsies, “would a guinea a piece help you to deliver a message

correctly? I see you think it would, so here it is. Now go to the Town

Hall, and tell the officer in charge that Doctor Syn of Queen’s has

killed the Squire of Iffley in a duel fought here in Magdalen Fields.

And add that the seconds and the surgeon will this morning wait upon the

Mayor and give him the circumstances.”

After making the rogues repeat this message, Nicholas gave them the

guinea. The gypsies, however, seemed in no hurry to set out, and as

they stared upon the body one of them muttered, “Didn’t he bleed?

Nicholas, who wisely did not wish to move the body beneath their eyes

lest the unnatural stiffness of the limbs should seem suspicious, rapped

out: “I think I paid you? Go at once.”

They sneaked off towards the gate, where already a few early risers

were gathered and watching from the distance.

“The story will be all over Oxford within an hour, and lose nothing

in the telling,” said Nicholas, with a smile.

He beckoned to the coachman, and directed the vehicle to draw up so

that it screened the body from the watchers at the gate. They lifted

the dead Squire, and placed him inside, drawing the window-curtains

close. The surgeon got in

– 47 -

to steady the body, and Nicholas turned to the others and said:

“I will see my uncle taken home, and then we will wait upon you

gentlemen at Queen’s. We can then, Mr. Cobtree, drive to see the Mayor

and lay our information.” This he said aloud, but as he stepped into

the coach, h e whispered with a smile: “How beautifully it worked! I can

tell Sommers not to fret, I think.”

He closed the door, and the coach rolled away and through the gates.

Syn and Cobtree followed.

“It seems that we must run the gauntlet of a pretty crowd ,” said

Tony.

“Aye,” replied Syn, “and where they have sprung from at this early

hour, heaven alone knows. The whole business distresses me, Tony. The

more so because I have to own to you that I enjoyed that fight last

night. Aye, man. I would not ha ve missed a second of the joy of it.

Should they unfrock me for this business, I shall leave the pulpit for a

more adventurous life.”

“You must think the first of Imogene,” returned Tony.

“I thought on her with every clash of steel last night,” repl ied the

parson.

When they reached the gate, the crowd, which had now so mysteriously

increased, held the ate open for them. The men doffed their hats, and

such women and girls as were there dropped curtseys. As they passed

through the gate, the people raised a cheer. Syn stopped and silenced

them:

“I would rather you should weep for the dead than rejoice for me,” he

said gravely.

“Bully Tappitt was a scoundrel, and deserved to die,” cried out one

man, bolder than the rest. “It needed a man to kill him and that the

man is a parson gives me a better opinion of the Church.”

At this the crowd cheered the more widely.

“Come, Tony,” whispered Syn, taking his friend’s arm and hurrying him

along. “Would I were free of this and of the whole damne d business.”

But the crowd were not to be robbed of their triumph against a man

they hated. They had most of them witnessed the behaviour of the Iffley

Squire in St. Giles’ the day before, and to them Doctor Syn was a hero

who deserved the fullest acclaim. And so they followed him and cheered

him to the gates of Queen’s, where their wild enthusiasm roused the

porter before Doctor Syn was able to unlock the gates himself.

“You are a hero, Christopher,” said Tony, as they passed the gates.

“And you well deserve it for your courage of last night. And remember

this. The more popular you are in the public opinion, the more sympathy

you will get from the coroner’s court, and from the University itself.

You may be sure of the students as of the crowds in St. Giles’ fair.

Yes, I think you will come out of this with honour.”

“The whole thing is such a damnable lie,” grumbled the Doctor.

“But you have saved Sommers,” comforted Tony. “And though you did not

actually kill the scoundrel, you might have done twenty times last

night. By gad, old friend, I begin to think that your cloth is a

mistake. You fight too well to waste such talent. Let us pray that they

do unfrock you, and then you can lead a regiment in the wars. Come

along; a little breakfast will m ake you take a more cheerful view of it.

I wonder how many innocent lives you have saved from ruin by dealing

with this bully. Let that thought comfort you.”

As they anticipated, the news of Bully Tappitt’s death spread like a

raging fire through Oxfo rd. That he had fallen in a duel which he had

instigated appealed also to everyone’s sense of justice. Long before

Nicholas Tappitt arrived in his coach to take Cobtree with him to the

Mayor, congratulations were pouring in to the young Doctor of Queen’s.

That the Bully had fallen at

– 48 -

the hands of a parson was choice news indeed, and Doctor Syn was

accordingly lionized. When at last the Iffley coach approached the

College, the way was blocked with carriages and chairs of every

description, while the great courtyard and the stairs leading to the

Doctor’s chambers were filled with the best rank and fashion of the

town, all eager and determined to shake the parson’s hand and hear the

delightful details from his own lips. The unfortunate young Doctor,

suffering as he was from lack of sleep and exhaustion, never knew that

he had so many friends and admirers. That the parson won the hand of a

rich and beautiful Spanish girl who was visiting the town gave him an

additional luster, since the news leaked out that this same beauty had

been the cause of the duel. The College servants, unable to cope with

such a fashionable crowd or deny them entrance, were swept aside, while

the fine folk invaded the parson’s chamber and fawned upon him through

their quizzing-glasses.

The only comfort Doctor Syn derived from all this was the security of

public opinion, so that should the Authorities take too stern a view

they would be risking their own popularity.

While Tony was wondering how best to effect his meeting with Nicholas

Tappitt, since the way was so blocked, he heard that gentleman’s voice

upon the stairs, boldly announcing himself as “Captain Nicholas Tappitt,

nephew and heir to the deceased,” and that he had come on urgent

business concerning the affair on the authority of the Mayor of Oxford.

Knowing the reputation of the Tappitt family, and noting his swaggering

demeanor, the dandies of the town made way for him. He pushed his way

into Syn’s study and bowed low.

“I am come to escort Mr. Cobtree, who acted as your second, sir, in

the affair with my unfortunate uncle, to the Town Hall. I have also the

honour to bring you a message from the Senorita Almago, who would be

glad to see you at your earliest convenience at White Friars.” He then

turned to the ladies and gentlemen who had invaded the room. “As friends

and admirers of Doctor Syn, ladies and gentlemen, I should like to state

most emphatically that although naturally deploring the sudden death of

my uncle, for whom I acted in the duel, the behavior of Doctor Syn has

been exemplary throughout. My uncle put such an affront upon him that,

in spite of his peaceful cloth, he could not brook. I am about to

inform the Mayor that no blame can possibly be attached to Doctor Syn,

who fought like a gentleman.”

The generosity of this speech did much to put him in the good graces

of the assembly, so that when he requested them to leave Doctor Syn to

his business, they readily withdrew.

When the door had closed upon them, Syn smiled for the first time

that morning.

“Oh, you’ll find me well enough yet, I dare swear,” he answered

easily.

“Come, let us go. We two to the Mayor, and you to the lovely

Imogene. By gad, Doctor, you’re a lucky man, and I wish you joy. No

doubt the little minx has told you that I have been in love with her

myself.”

“A man of taste could hardly help it, sir,” replied the Doctor, as he

led them out by a back staircase to avoid the crowds.

This ruse, however, led Doctor Syn into a worse embarrassment, for, a

number of his own students spying him, he was lifted on their shoulders

and carried to St. Giles’ in triumph.

“My little plan has made your friend a hero,” said Nicholas as he led

Cobtree away.

“I would we were at liberty to praise his swordsmanship, rather t han

imaginary marksmanship. I shall never see a fight like that again. It

was magnificent.”

– 49 -

“I can imagine it sir,” replied Nicholas. “With all his faults, my

uncle was a fighter, and I would have given much to have come earlier on

the scene to see him matched.”

The young men were relieved to find the Mayor was entirely on the

Doctor’s side. Indeed, he did not attempt to hide his profound relief

that such a menace to the town’s peace had died.

Then they proceeded to the Chancellor’s, who, although applauding his

young colleague’s courage, took a graver view of the situation.

“Doctor Syn has violated one of the strictest rules of the

University,” he said.

“But, sir,” protested Cobtree, “he went to rescue his betrothed and a

man is a man before he is a parson.”

“Oh, I know, I know,” grumbled the old man. “He was tried beyond

bearing, I admit, and a young man of spirit could do little else. But

what will our pompous Bishop have to say about the duties of a

clergyman?”

“If h e unfrocks him,” cried Tony, “his Lordship will see his own

effigy burned in every quadrangle in Oxford. He had best abide by

public opinion.”

“Aye, sir,” cried Nicholas, backing up the lawyer. “If friend Syn is

unfrocked for this, for once you’ll see the town boys behind the Gowns,

and they’ll be unfrocking every parson in Oxford, the Bishop included.”

And while his friends were thus arguing in his defense, Doctor Syn,

having closed the doors against the boisterous crowds, found peace in

his lover’s arms.

“I think I am almost afraid of you,” she whispered. “I never thought

to see a man fight like that. It was horrible and yet magnificent.

Promise to keep me always from harm as you did last night.”

“Promise to love me always, and I will,” he answered fondly.

“I think that should be easy,” she replied. “And when my dear mother

is recovered from her shock, I am going to make her consent to our

immediate marriage. Something tells me that I shall always be in danger

away from you. So let it be soon, and then no separation.”

“It cannot be too soon for me,” he said.

When Tony and Nicholas returned they had much to tell. That the

Mayor and Chancellor were friendly, there was little to fear from the

coroner, who would hold his inquiry the next day, and also that Doctor

Syn was likely to be called before the Bishop’s Court.

“Suppose they unfrock me, Imogene. Will you still marry me?”

“Oh, if they only would! she answered. “You are too adventurous for

that solemn coat. I’m sure you fight much better than you preach.”

“By gad, I think she’s right,” cried Nicholas.

And Tony echoed, “Yes, by God, I think she is.”

“You all seem bent to make a fuss of me,” said Syn.

– 50 -