Cape
Town, sworn to deliver it. A good knot to grasp; and it 's flexible
and strong; stick or rattan, whichever you please; it gives point or
caresses the shoulder; there's no break in it, whack as you may. They
call it a Demerara supple-jack. I'll leave it to you.'

Skepsey declared his intention to be the first to depart. He tried
the temper of the stick, bent it a bit, and admired the prompt
straightening.

'It would give a good blow, sir.'

'Does its business without braining.'

Perhaps for the reason, that it was not a handsome instrument for
display on fashionable promenades, Dartrey chose it among his collection
by preference; as ugly dogs of a known fidelity are chosen for
companions. The Demerara supple-jack surpasses bull-dogs in its fashion
of assisting the master; for when once at it, the clownish-looking thing
reflects upon him creditably, by developing a refined courtliness of
style, while in no way showing a diminution of jolly ardour for the
fray. It will deal you the stroke of a bludgeon with the playfulness of
a cane. It bears resemblance to those accomplished natural actors,
who conversationally present a dramatic situation in two or three
spontaneous flourishes, and are themselves again, men of the world, the
next minute.

Skepsey handed it back. He spoke of a new French rifle. He mentioned, in
the form of query for no answer, the translation of the barking little
volume he had shown to Mr. Barmby: he slapped at his breast-pocket,
where it was. Not a ship was on the sea-line; and he seemed to deplore
that vacancy.

'But it tells both ways,' Dartrey said. 'We don't want to be hectoring
in the Channel. All we want, is to be sure of our power, so as not to
go hunting and fawning for alliances. Up along that terrace Miss Nesta
lives. Brighton would be a choice place for a landing.'

Skepsey temporized, to get his national defences, by pleading the
country's love of peace.

'Then you give-up your portion of the gains of war--an awful
disgorgement,' said Dartrey. 'If you are really for peace, you toss all
your spare bones to the war-dogs. Otherwise, Quakerly preaching is taken
for hypocrisy.'

'I 'm afraid we are illogical, sir,' said Skepsey, adopting one of the
charges of Mr. Durance, to elude the abominable word.

'In you run, my friend.' Dartrey sped him up the steps of the hotel.

A little note lay on his breakfast-table. His invalid uncle's valet gave
the morning's report of the night.