, making
room for a full one to come alongside, thus rendering conversation
momentarily possible.

"Pity the boss couldn't have stayed on shore till we were through with
it and cleaned up a bit," the speaker continued. "Makes the old man no
end waxy to have any one on board when the yacht's like she is. I don't
blame him. She's as neat and pretty as a white daisy in a green pasture
when she's away to sea. And now, poor little soul, she's a regular
slut."

"I know I'd 'ave stayed ashore fast enough if I was the boss," the boy
said, half wistfully. "That villa of his is like a piece of poetry. I
keep on saying over to myself how it looks."

"Oh! it's not so bad for foreign parts," the senior officer replied.
"And you're young yet and soft, Penberthy. You'll come of that
presently. England's best for houses, town and country, and most other
things--women, and fights, and even sunshine, for when you do get
sunshine at home there's no spite in it.--Hi! there you ganger," he
shouted suddenly, and resentfully, leaning out over the bulwarks,
"hurry 'em up a bit, can't you? You don't suppose I mean to stand here
till the second anniversary of the Day of Judgment, watching your
blithering, chicken-shanked macaronies suck rotten oranges, do you?
Start 'em up again. Whatever are you waiting for, man? Start 'em up, I
say."

The boy's dreamy eyes, full of unwritten verse, dwelt with a curious
indifference upon the broken procession of ascending, black figures. He
had but lately joined, and to him both the fine vessel and her owner
were invested with a certain romance.

"What was the fancy for calling the yacht the _Reprieve_?" he asked
presently.

"Wait till you've had the chance to take a good look at Sir Richard,
and you'll answer your question yourself," the other man answered
oracularly. Then he broke out again into sustained invective:--"Hold up
there, you little fool of a tight-rope-dancing, _bella Napoli_ gorilla,
and don't go dropping good, honest, Welsh steam-coal overboard into
your confounded, stinking local sewer! I don't care to see any of your
blamed posturings, don't flatter yourself. Hold up you grimacing, great
grandson of a lousy she-ape, can't you, and walk straight.--Take him
all round Sir Richard Calmady's the best boss I ever sailed with--one
of the sternest, but the civilest too.--Shove 'em along, ganger, will
you. Shove 'em along, I say.--He's one of the few men I've loved, I'm
not ashamed to say it,