twirled the moustache shook woefully: and from the little chest there came a cough surprisingly loud and dismal.
He was lying on a sofa as I entered, and the children of the house were playing round him. "If you are our uncle, why didn't you come to see us oftener?" asks Popham.
"How should I know that you were such uncommonly nice children?" asks the captain.
"We're not nice to you," says Popham. "Why do you cough so? Mamma used to cough. And why does your hand shake so?"
"My hand shakes because I am ill: and I cough because I'm ill. Your mother died of it, and I daresay I shall too."
"I hope you'll be good, and repent before you die, uncle, and I will lend you some nice books," says Cecilia.
"Oh, bother books!" cries Pop.
"And I hope you'll be good, Popham," and "You hold your tongue, Miss," and "I shall," and "I shan't," and "You're another," and "I'll tell Miss Prior,"—"Go and tell, telltale,"—"Boo"—"Boo"—"Boo"—"Boo"—and I don't know what more exclamations came tumultuously and rapidly from these dear children, as their uncle lay before them, a handkerchief to his mouth, his little feet high raised on the sofa cushions.
Captain Baker turned a little eye towards me, as I entered the room, but did not change his easy and elegant posture. When I came near to the sofa where he reposed, he was good enough to call out:
"Glass of sherry!"
"It's Mr. Batchelor; it isn't Bedford, uncle," says Cissy.
"Mr. Batchelor ain't got any sherry in his pocket:—have you, Mr. Batchelor? You ain't like old Mrs. Prior, always pocketing things, are you?" cries Pop, and falls a-laughing at the ludicrous idea of my being mistaken for Bedford.
"Beg your pardon. How should I know, you know?" drawls the invalid on the sofa. "Everybody's the same now, you see."
"Sir!" says I, and "sir" was all I could say. The fact is, I could have replied with something remarkably neat and cutting, which would have transfixed the languid little jackanapes who dared to mistake me for a footman; but, you see, I only thought of my repartee some eight hours afterwards when I was lying in bed, and I am sorry to own that a great number of my best bon mots have been made in that way. So, as I had not the pungent remark ready when wanted, I can't say I said it to Captain Baker, but I daresay I turned very red, and said "Sir!" and—and in fact that was all.
"You were goin' to say somethin'?" asked the captain, affably.
"You know my friend, Mr. Fitzboodle, I believe?" said I; the fact is, I really did not know what to say.
"Some mistake—think not."
"He is a member of the Flag Club," I remarked, looking my young fellow hard in the face.
