as paid to tell them. It was his bread
and butter,--would we wish him to have no bread and butter? We assured
him so cruel a thought had no place in our hearts! Then he is
amorous--yes! the good fat man is amorous! He would have become a
priest, but on close examination of the confessionals he saw there was
no possibility of seeing, much less kissing a lady penitent through the
grating. So he gave up that idea! In his form of faith he _can_ kiss, he
says,--he _does_ kiss!--always a holy kiss, of course! He is so
ingenuous,--so delightfully frank, it is quite charming!"

They laughed again. Sir Philip looked somewhat disgusted.

"What an old brute he must be!" he said. "Somebody ought to kick him--a
holy kick, of course, and therefore more intense and forcible than other
kicks."

"You begin, Phil," laughed Lorimer, "and we'll all follow suit. He'll be
like that Indian in 'Vathek' who rolled himself into a ball; no one
could resist kicking as long as the ball bounded before them,--we,
similarly, shall not be able to resist, if Dyceworthy's fat person is
once left at our mercy."

"That was a grand bit he told us, Errington," resumed Macfarlane. "Ye
should ha' heard him talk aboot his love-affair! . . . the saft jelly of
a man that he is, to be making up to ony woman."

At that moment they ran alongside of the _Eulalie_ and threw up their
oars.

"Stop a bit," said Errington. "Tell us the rest on board."

The ladder was lowered; they mounted it, and their boat was hauled up to
its place.

"Go on!" said Lorimer, throwing himself lazily into a deck arm-chair and
lighting a cigar, while the others leaned against the yacht rails and
followed his example. "Go on, Sandy--this is fun! Dyceworthy's amours
must be amusing. I suppose he's after that ugly wooden block of a woman
we saw at his house who is so zealous for the 'true gospel'?"

"Not a bit of it," replied Sandy, with immense gravity. "The auld
Silenus has better taste. He says there's a young lass running after
him, fit to break her heart aboot him,--puir thing, she must have vera
little choice o' men! He hasna quite made up his mind, though he admeets
she's as fine a lass as ony man need require. He's sorely afraid she has
set herself to catch him, as he says she's an eye like a warlock for a
really strong good-looking fellow like himself," and Macfarlane chuckled
audibly. "Maybe he'll take pity on her, maybe he wont; the misguided
lassie will be sairly teazed b