When the impetuous young
gentleman paused (not for want of words, merely for want of breath),
the quarter-master turned about, and addressed himself to the audience
gathered round. "Gentlemen," he said, with a Roman brevity, "this young
fellow is mad."
The captain's voice checked the general outbreak of laughter. "That
will do, quarter-master. Let it be understood that nobody is to shoot
the bird--and let me suggest to _you,_ sir, that you might have
expressed your sentiments quite as effectually in less violent
language."
Addressed in those terms, the impetuous young man burst into another
fit of excitement. "You're quite right, sir! I deserve every word you
have said to me; I feel I have disgraced myself." He ran after the
quartermaster, and seized him by both hands. "I beg your pardon; I beg
your pardon with all my heart. You would have served me right if you
had thrown me overboard after the language I used to you. Pray excuse
my quick temper; pray forgive me. What do you say? 'Let bygones _be_
bygones'? That's a capital way of putting it. You're a thorough good
fellow. If I can ever be of the smallest use to you (there's my card
and address in London), let me know it; I entreat you let me know it.
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