In the Roar of the Sea Part 41

"Mr. Vokins," said Scantlebray, "and the accomplished and charming Miss Judith Trevisa, orphing."

"And now, dear young lady," said the red-headed man, "now, positively, it is my turn--my friend, Mr. Jukes. Jukes, man! Miss Judith Trevisa."

Then Mr. Vokins coughed into his thin white hand, and said, "We are come, naturally--and I am sure you wish what Miss Trevisa wishes--to just look at your brother, and give our opinion on his health."

"Oh, he is quite well," said Judith.

"Ah! you think so, naturally, but we would decide for ourselves, dearest young lady, though--not for the world would we willingly differ from you. But, you know, there are questions on which varieties of opinions are allowable, and yet do not disturb the most heartfelt friendship. It is so, is it not, Jukes?"

The rubicund man in knee-breeches nodded.

"Shall I begin, Jukes? Why, my fine little man! What an array of books! What scholarship! And at your age, too--astounding! What age did you say you were?" This to Jamie in an insinuating tone. Jamie stared, looked appealingly at Judith, and said nothing.

"We are the same age, we are twins," said Judith.

"Oh! it is not the right thing to appear anxious to know a lady's age.

We will put it another way, eh, Jukes?"

The red-faced man leaned his hands on his stick, his chin on his hands, and winked, as in that position he could not nod.

"Now, my fine little man! When is your birthday? When you have your cake--raisin-cake, eh?"

Jamie looked questioningly at his sister.

"Ah! Come, not the day of the month--but the month, eh?"

Jamie could not answer.

"Come now," said the red-headed levy man, stretching his legs before him, legs vested in white trousers, strapped down tight. "Come now, my splendid specimen of humanity! In which quarter of the year? Between sickle and scythe, eh?" He waited, and receiving no answer, pulled out a pocket-book and made a note, after having first wetted the end of his pencil. "Don't know when he was born. What do you say to that, Jukes? Will you take your turn?"

The man with an inflamed face was gradually becoming purple, as he leaned forward on his stick, and said, "Humph! a Latin grammar.

Propria quae maribus. I remember it, but it was a long time ago I learned it. Now, whipper-snapper! How do you get on? Propria quae maribus--Go on." He waited. Jamie looked at him in astonishment.

"Come! Tribu--" again he waited. "Come! _Tribuntur mascula dicas._ Go on." Again a pause. Then with an impatient growl. "Ut sunt divorum, Mars, Bacchus, Apollo. This will never do. Go on with the Scaramouch, Vokins. I'll make my annotations."

"He's too hard on my little chap, ain't he?" asked the thin man in ducks. "We won't be done. We are not old enough----"

"He is but eighteen," said Judith.

"He is but eighteen," repeated the red-headed man. "Of course he has not got so far as that, but musa, musae."

Jamie turned sulky.

"Not musa, musae--and eighteen years! Jukes, this is serious, Jukes; eh, Jukes?"

"Now look here, you fellows," said Scantlebray, senior. "You are too exacting. It's holiday time, ain't it, Orphing? We won't be put upon, not we. We'll sport, and frolic, and be joyful. Look here, Scanty, old man, take the slate and draw a pictur' to my describing. Now then, Jamie, look at him and hearken to me. He's the funniest old man that ever was, and he'll surprise you. Are you ready, Scanty?" Mr. Obadiah drew the slate before him, and signed with the pencil to Jamie to observe him. The boy was quite ready to see him draw.

"There was once upon a time," began Mr. Scantlebray, senior, "a man that lived in a round tower. Look at him, draw it, there you are. That is the tower. Go on. And in the tower was a round winder. Do you see the winder, Orphing? This man every morning put his hand out of the winder to ascertain which way the wind blew. He put it in thus, and drew it out thus. No! don't look at me, look at the slate and then you'll see it all. Now this man had a large pond, preserved full of fish." Scratch, scratch went the pencil on the slate. "Them's the fish," said Scantlebray, senior. "Now below the situation of that pond, in two huts, lived a pair of thieves. You see them pokey things my brother has drawn? Them's the 'uts. When night set in, these wicked thieves came walking up to the pond, see my brother drawing their respective courses! And on reaching the pond, they opened the sluice, and whish! whish! out poured the water." Scratch, scratch, squeak, squeak, went the pencil on the slate. "There now! the naughty robbers went after fish, and got a goose! Look! a goo-oose."

"Where's the goose?" asked Jamie.

"Where? Before your eyes--under your nose. That brilliant brother of mine has drawn one. Hold the slate up, Scanty."

"That's not a goose," said Jamie.

"Not a goose! You don't know what geese are."

"Yes, I do," retorted the boy, resentfully, "I know the wild goose and the tame one--which do you call that?"

"Oh, wild goose, of course."

"It's not one. A goose hasn't a tail like that, nor such legs," said Jamie, contemptuously.

Mr. Scantlebray, senior, looked at Messrs. Vokins and Jukes and shook his head. "A bad case. Don't know a goose when he sees it--and he is eighteen."

Both Vokins and Jukes made an entry in their pocket-books.

"Now Jukes," said Vokins, "will you take a turn, or shall I?"

"Oh, you, Vokins," answered Jukes, "I haven't recovered _propria quae maribus_, yet."

"Very well, my interesting young friend. Suppose now we change the subject and try arithmetic."

"I don't want any arithmetic," said Jamie, sulkily.

"No--come--now we won't call it by that name; suppose some one were to give you a shilling."

Jamie looked up interested.

"And suppose he were to say. There--go and buy sweeties with this shilling. Tartlets at three for two pence, and barley-sugar at three farthings a stick, and----"

"I want my shilling back," said Jamie, looking straight into the face of Mr. Scantlebray, senior.

"And that there were burnt almonds at two pence an ounce."

"I want my shilling," exclaimed the boy, angrily.

"Your shilling, puff! puff!" said the red-headed man. "This is ideal, an ideal shilling, and ideal jam-tarts, almond rock, burnt almonds or what you like."

"Give me back my shilling. I won it fair," persisted Jamie.

Then Judith, distressed, interfered. "Jamie, dear! what do you mean?

You have no shilling owing to you."

"I have! I have!" screamed the boy. "I won it fair of that man there, because I made a rabbit, and he took it from me again."

"Hallucinations," said Jukes.

"Quite so," said Vokins.