Free The Two Admirals by James Fenimore Cooper Page A

manner,
disburthened his mind to the following effect.
    "Sir Gervaise," he said, "I am no sailor, as you know, and least of all
do I bear His Majesty's commission in the navy, though I am in the
county commission as a justice of the peace; so, if I make any little
mistake you will have the goodness to overlook it, for I know that the
etiquette of the quarter-deck is a very serious matter, and is not to be
trifled with;—but here is Dutton, as good a fellow in his way as
lives—his father was a sort of a gentleman too, having been the
attorney of the neighbourhood, and the old man was accustomed to dine
with me forty years ago—"
    "I believe I understand you, Sir Wycherly," interrupted the admiral;
"and I thank you for the attention you wish to pay my prejudices; but,
you are master of Wychecombe, and I should feel myself a troublesome
intruder, indeed, did you not ask whom you please to dine at your own
table."
    "That's not quite it, Sir Gervaise, though you have not gone far wide of
the mark. Dutton is only a master, you know; and it seems that a master
on board ship is a very different thing from a master on shore; so
Dutton, himself, has often told me."
    "Ay, Dutton is right enough as regards a king's ship, though the two
offices are pretty much the same, when other craft are alluded to. But,
my dear Sir Wycherly, an admiral is not disgraced by keeping company
with a boatswain, if the latter is an honest man. It is true we have our
customs, and what we call our quarter-deck and forward officers; which
is court end and city, on board ship; but a master belongs to the first,
and the master of the Plantagenet, Sandy McYarn, dines with me once a
month, as regularly as he enters a new word at the top of his log-book.
I beg, therefore, you will extend your hospitality to whom you
please—or—" the admiral hesitated, as he cast a good-natured glance at
the master, who stood still uncovered, waiting for his superior to move
away; "or, perhaps, Sir Wycherly, you would permit
me
to ask a friend
to make one of our party."
    "That's just it, Sir Gervaise," returned the kind-hearted baronet; "and
Dutton will be one of the happiest fellows in Devonshire. I wish we
could have Mrs. Dutton and Milly, and then the table would look what my
poor brother James—St. James I used to call him—what the Rev. James
Wychecombe was accustomed to term, mathematical. He said a table should
have all its sides and angles duly filled. James was a most agreeable
companion, Sir Gervaise, and, in divinity, he would not have turned his
back on one of the apostles, I do verily believe!"
    The admiral bowed, and turning to the master, he invited him to be of
the party at the Hall, in the manner which one long accustomed to render
his civilities agreeable by a sort of professional off-handed way, well
knew how to assume.
    "Sir Wycherly has insisted that I shall consider his table as set in my
own cabin," he continued; "and I know of no better manner of proving my
gratitude, than by taking him at his word, and filling it with guests
that will be agreeable to us both. I believe there is a Mrs. Dutton, and
a Miss—a—a—a—"
    "Milly," put in the baronet, eagerly; "Miss Mildred Dutton—the daughter
of our good friend Dutton, here, and a young lady who would do credit to
the gayest drawing-room in London."
    "You perceive, sir, that our kind host anticipates the wishes of an old
bachelor, as it might be by instinct, and desires the company of the
ladies, also. Miss Mildred will, at least, have two young men to do
homage to her beauty, and
three
old ones to sigh in the distance—hey!
Atwood?"
    "Mildred, as Sir Wycherly knows, sir, has been a little disturbed this
morning," returned Dutton, putting on his best manner for the occasion;
"but, I feel no doubt, will be too grateful for this honour, not to
exert herself to make a suitable return. As for my wife, gentlemen—"
    "And what is to prevent Mrs. Dutton from being one of the party,"
interrupted Sir