Now sleep, and the doctor
shall see you when he has rested--at least, I know he will."
Then Withers took Miss Dearsley's hand in his brown, ragged, cracked
paw, and kissed it--which is offence number three against the
proprieties. But then you know the soldiers used to kiss Florence
Nightingale's shadow! Didn't they?
CHAPTER V.
AFTER THE STORMS.
It was very pleasant on the third day that followed the gale; the sky
once more took its steel-grey shade, the sharp breezes stole over gentle
rollers and covered each sad-coloured bulge with fleeting ripples. That
blessed breeze, so pure, so crisp, so potently shot through with magic
savours of iodine and ozone, exhilarates the spirits until the most
staid of men break at times into schoolboy fun. Do you imagine that
religious people are dull, or dowie, as the Scotch say? Not a bit of it.
They are the most cheerful and wholesome of mortals, and I only wish my
own companions all my life had been as genial and merry. How often and
often have I been in companies where men had been feeding--we won't say
"dining," because that implies something delicate and rational. The
swilling began, and soon the laughter of certain people sounded like the
crackling of thorns under a pot, and we were all jolly--so jolly. The
table was an arena surrounded by flushed persons with codfishy eyes, and
all the diners congratulated themselves on being the most jovial fellows
under the moon.
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