“Give her my kindest regards,” said Crosbie.
It was quite clear both to the husband and to the
wife, that he was preparing himself for rebellion
against authority.
For some ten minutes there was nothing said.
Crosbie amused himself by playing with the boy whom
he called Dicksey, by way of a nickname for de Courcy.
“Mamma, he calls me Dicksey. Am I Dicksey?
I’ll call ’oo old Cross and then Aunt
Dina ’on’t like ’oo.”
“I wish you would not call the child nicknames,
Adolphus. It seems as though you would wish to
cast a slur upon the one which he bears.”
“I should hardly think that he would feel disposed
to do that,” said Mr Gazebee.
“Hardly, indeed,” said Crosbie.
“It has never yet been disgraced in the annals
of our country by being made into a nickname,”
said the proud daughter of the house. She was
probably unaware that among many of his associates
her father had been called Lord de Curse’ye,
from the occasional energy of his language. “And
any such attempt is painful in my ears. I think
something of my family, I can assure you, Adolphus,
and so does my husband.”
“A very great deal,” said Mr Gazebee.
“So do I of mine,” said Crosbie.
“That’s natural to all of us. One
of my ancestors came over with William the Conqueror.
I think he was one of the assistant cooks in the king’s
tent.”
“A cook!” said young de Courcy.
“Yes, my boy, a cook. That was the way
most of our old families were made noble. They
were cooks, or butlers to the kings,—or
sometimes something worse.”
“But your family isn’t noble?”
“No;—I’ll tell you how that
was. The king wanted this cook to poison half-a-dozen
of his officers who wished to have a way of their
own; but the cook said, ’No, my Lord King; I
am a cook, not an executioner.’ So they
sent him into the scullery, and when they called all
the other servants barons and lords, they only called
him Cookey. They’ve changed the name to
Crosbie since that, by degrees.”
Mr Gazebee was awestruck, and the face of the Lady
Amelia became very dark. Was it not evident that
this snake, when taken into their innermost bosoms
that they might there warm him, was becoming an adder,
and preparing to sting them? There was very little
more conversation that evening, and soon after the
story of the cook, Crosbie got up and went away to
his own home.
“See, the Conquering Hero Comes”
John Eames had reached his office precisely at twelve
o’clock, but when he did so he hardly knew whether
he was standing on his heels or his head. The
whole morning had been to him one of intense excitement,
and latterly, to a certain extent, one of triumph.
But he did not at all know what might be the results.
Would he be taken before a magistrate and locked up?
Would there be a row at the office? Would Crosbie
