“Oh, ha!” said the footman, adjusting his collar; “very good.  This seems a d——­d, old-fashioned, outlandish place of yours.  Any ale?”

“Now, shiver my hulks!” said the admiral.

“Hush! hush!” said Henry; “who knows but there may be a design in this?  We have no ale.”

“Oh, ah! dem!—­dry as dust, by God!  What does the old commodore say?  Any message, my ancient Greek?”

“No, thank you,” said the admiral; “bless you, nothing.  What did you give for that waistcoat, d—­n you?  Ha! ha! you’re a clever fellow.”

“Ah! the old gentleman’s ill.  However, I’ll take back his compliments, and that he’s much obliged at Sir Francis’s condescension.  At the same time, I suppose may place in my eye what I may get out of either of you, without hindering me seeing my way back.  Ha! ha!  Adieu—­adieu.”

“Bravo!” said the admiral; “that’s it—­go it—­now for it.  D—­n it, it is a do!”

The admiral’s calmness during the latter part of the dialogue arose from the fact that over the flunkey’s shoulder, and at some little distance off, he saw Jack Pringle taking off his jacket, and rolling up his sleeves in that deliberate sort of way that seemed to imply a determination of setting about some species of work that combined the pleasant with the useful.

Jack executed many nods to and winks at the livery-servant, and jerked his thumb likewise in the direction of a pump near at hand, in a manner that spoke as plainly as possible, that John was to be pumped upon.

And now the conference was ended, and Sir Francis’s messenger turned to go; but Jack Pringle bothered him completely, for he danced round him in such a singular manner, that, turn which way he would, there stood Jack Pringle, in some grotesque attitude, intercepting him; and so he edged him on, till he got him to the pump.

“Jack,” said the admiral.

“Ay, ay, sir.”

“Don’t pump on that fellow now.”

“Ay, ay, sir; give us a hand.”

Jack laid hold of him by the two ears, and holding him under the pump, kicked his shins until he completely gathered himself beneath the spout.  It was in vain that he shouted “Murder! help! fire! thieves!” Jack was inexorable, and the admiral pumped.

Jack turned the fellow’s head about in a very scientific manner, so as to give him a fair dose of hydropathic treatment, and in a few minutes, never was human being more thoroughly saturated with moisture than was Sir Francis Varney’s servant.  He had left off hallooing for aid, for he found that whenever he did so, Jack held his mouth under the spout, which was decidedly unpleasant; so, with a patience that looked like heroic fortitude, he was compelled to wait until the admiral was tired of pumping.

“Very good,” at length he said.  “Now, Jack, for fear this fellow catcher cold, be so good as to get a horsewhip, and see him off the premises with it.”