The Ocean Cat's Paw Part 5

"Confound their politics, Frustrate their knavish tricks!"

"That was a very fine tea, Mrs Champernowne. Now, Pickle, my boy, I think it would be very nice to go and sit for half-an-hour in the arbour under the roses, while I kill the green fly--the aphides, Mrs Champernowne--which increase and multiply at a rate which is absolutely marvellous. Pickle, my boy, I hope you will never grow up as weak and self-indulgent as your uncle. Fill me my long clay pipe."

CHAPTER FOUR.

OH, SUMMER NIGHT!

Mrs Champernowne's arbour was a very homely affair, consisting of four fir poles to form as many corners, and a few more nailed and pegged together to form gables. Nature built all the rest with roses and honeysuckle and some vigorous ivy at the back, the roses spiring up, the honeysuckle creeping in and out among the long strands and holding them together, while the ivy ran rapidly up the back till it could grow no higher, and then began to droop down till it had formed itself into a thick curtain which kept out the wind.

There was a very rustic table in the middle, formed by nailing two pieces of plank on to a tree stump, and a couple of seats, one on each side, pierced with holes that had once upon a time been made by s.h.i.+p carpenters' augers, when the wood was built up over the ribs of some stout s.h.i.+p which long years after was b.u.mped to pieces by the waves upon the rocks and then cast up upon the southern sh.o.r.e, to be bought up and carted all through the county.

Yes, it was a very rustic place, but it suited its surroundings, and Uncle Paul looked supremely happy as he sat there slowly smoking his pipe and gazing dreamily before him at the beautiful landscape stretching far, and the garden of the one cottage within reach only a short distance away from the plot of ground where by the help of the neighbour sufficient potatoes were grown for the widow's use. "What a silent, peaceful evening, Pickle," said Uncle Paul. "Look yonder in the east; the moon will be up soon, and then it will be night, and we have done no work. How do you feel, my boy?"

"Tired and stupid, uncle. My legs ache right down to the ankles."

"No wonder, hopping about amongst those granite boulders. My back's a bit stiff too. There, let's go into the parlour, light up, and then you shall fetch down the microscope."

"Oh, not yet, uncle!--I say, have another pipe."

"A vaunt, you young tempter! Trying to lead me astray into idleness!

No, let's get in. We have been playing all day; now let's go and get a bit of work done before we lie down to sleep."

"But I say, uncle, do you think that Napoleon will ever start another war in France?"

"Who knows, boy? His goings-on have brought nearly everything to a standstill, and there has been war enough to last for a hundred years."

"Yes, uncle; but do you think that Napoleon and the war put a stop to your expedition that you were to make in a vessel of your own?"

"Of course I do, Pickle," said Uncle Paul, smoking very slowly now, with his eyes shut, so as to make the little incandescent ma.s.s at the bottom of his bowl last for a few minutes longer. "Government promised me and my friends to make a grant for the fitting out of a small vessel, and for the payment of a captain and crew, and it was voted that we should have it; but do what we might, my friends and I could never get the cash, and it has always been put off, put off, on account of the expenses of the war."

"But, uncle--" began Rodd.

"No, you don't, sir," said Uncle Paul, with a soft chuckle. "None of your artfulness! You are trying to lead me on to prattle about Bony, so as to avoid my lecture upon the fresh-water polypes I have taken to-day.

Get out, you transparent young scrub! In with you, and fetch down the case, and light the two candles on the parlour table. Nice innocent way of doing it. Think I couldn't see through you, sir? Be off!"

A few minutes later Uncle Paul's pipe was cooling on the parlour chimney-piece, kept almost upright by the waxy end leaning against a gla.s.s tube which had been formed into a sort of ornamental rolling-pin to be suspended over the fire, and to be much treasured by its owner.

It was not a very aesthetic piece of art or ornamentation, being only composed of coloured flowers carefully cut out of a piece of chintz, before being gummed upon the inside of the gla.s.s tube. This was then filled up with salt, and the ornament was complete.

The candles were burning brightly after each application of the snuffers; the polished mahogany microscope case stood on a side-table, and the bra.s.s tube that had been taken out was ready to receive one of the many slips of gla.s.s, some of which had little cup-like hollows ground out of one side ready for receiving a tiny drop of water and one or other of the specimens, the result of the past day's search.

Uncle Paul was on one side of the table with his big gla.s.s bottle; Rodd sat on the other, with his chin resting in his hands, trying to listen to his uncle's discourse, and with his eyelids drooping down now and again.

"Bother the flies and moths!" said Uncle Paul testily. "Who's to work with them circling round and round the candles, trying to singe themselves to death? What's that white one, boy?"

"Ghost moth, uncle," replied Rodd sharply, his uncle's question seeming to rouse him up to attention.

"Good boy! Well named. Trying hard to make a ghost of itself too.

Why, there's a great Daddy Longlegs now! Here, you'll have to shut the window."

"Oh, don't, uncle! It will make the room so hot."

"Umph! So it will. Very tiresome, though, when one's trying to work.

Now then, let me see; let me see. I want to examine this hydra, but I must put on a lower power, and--Oh, dear, dear, dear! Gnats! Moths!

Tipulae and--Really, really, Pickle, that lamp gives no light at all;"

and Uncle Paul leaned forward, took a pin out of the edge of his waistcoat, and began to p.r.i.c.k at and try to raise the wick of the reflecting microscope lamp.

Then there was a little catastrophe, for after a most vigorous application of the pin the wick seemed to resent it as if it were some kind of sea worm, and drew back out of reach into its little bra.s.s cell.

"There, now I've done it!" said Uncle Paul. "Did you ever see anything so tiresome in your life, Pickle?"

"Yahah!" sighed the boy slowly.

"Why, what are you doing? Yawning!" cried Uncle Paul. "You are about the sleepiest chap I ever knew. There, I am afraid I shall have to wait for to-morrow morning's suns.h.i.+ne. Clear away, or help me. Let's put everything on a side-table, and I'll tell Mrs Champernowne that she isn't to touch what she sees there."

"Yes, uncle," said the boy, with something like alacrity, as the table was cleared and the candles re-snuffed, the effect of opening and shutting the snuffers seeming to act upon Rodd and making him yawn widely, while quite involuntarily Uncle Paul did the same. "Now then,"

said Uncle Paul.

"Aren't we going to bed, uncle?" said Rodd eagerly. "Bed? Nonsense!

Because we are in a country place where people like going to bed almost in the middle of the day and getting up in the middle of the night, do you think we need follow their example? Absurd! I want to talk to you about some of the wonderful things I captured to-day. The waters on the moor swarm with the most beautiful limpid specimens."

Rodd sighed softly, and put his hand before his mouth to stop a yawn.

"Oh, by the way," said Uncle Paul, "did you change your trousers when you went up to wash?"

"No, uncle; they didn't want it."

"Weren't they damp?"

"No, uncle; I only got my shoes wet, and they were pretty well dry when I got home. Besides, you had got my other trousers in the big portmanteau in your room."

"Well, you could have come and fetched them. Always be careful to change damp things.--Come in!"

There had been a soft tap at the door, and Mrs Champernowne appeared.

"I beg pardon, sir, but what would you like for breakfast in the morning?"

"Breakfast, Mrs Champernowne? Nothing."

"Oh, I say, uncle!" said Rodd sharply. "We seem to have eaten enough this evening to last us for twenty-four hours."

"Oh no, sir," said the landlady. "Excuse me, but our moorland air will make you think very differently to-morrow morning."

"Humph!" grunted Uncle Paul.

"You see, sir, I did think that you'd bring home enough trout this evening to do for your breakfast too, and I am afraid there's nothing but ham and eggs. Would you mind them?"