"Ahoy!" he roared, "Oliver, Penelope, Bess--breakfast ho!--breakfast for the Viscount--and friend. They be all watching of that theer imp--axing his pardon--that theer groom o' yours, what theer be of him, which though small ain't by no means to be despised, him being equally ready wi' his tongue as his fist."

Here entered two maids, both somewhat flushed with haste but both equally bright of eye, neat of person, and light of foot, who very soon had laid a snowy cloth and duly set out thereon the beef, the bread and cheese, and a mighty ham, before which the Viscount seated himself forthwith, while their sailor host, more jovial than ever, pointed out its many beauties with an eloquent thumb. And so, having seen his guests seated opposite each other, he pulled his forelock at them, made a leg to them, and left them to their breakfast.

CHAPTER XI

IN WHICH FISTS ARE CLENCHED; AND OF A SELFISH MAN, WHO WAS AN APOSTLE OF PEACE

Conversation, though in itself a blessed and delightful thing, yet may be sometimes out of place, and wholly impertinent. If wine is a loosener of tongues, surely food is the greatest, pleasantest, and most complete silencer; for what man when hunger gnaws and food is before him--what man, at such a time, will stay to discuss the wonders of the world, of science--or even himself?

Thus our two young travellers, with a very proper respect for the noble fare before them, paid their homage to it in silence--but a silence that was eloquent none the less. At length, however, each spoke, and each with a sigh.

_The Viscount_. "The ham, my dear fellow--!"

_Barnabas_. "The beef, my dear Dick--!"

_The Viscount and Barnabus_. "Is beyond words."

Having said which, they relapsed again into a silence, broken only by the occasional rattle of knife and fork.

_The Viscount_ (hacking at the loaf). "It's a grand thing to be hungry, my dear fellow."

_Barnabas_ (glancing over the rim of his tankard). "When you have the means of satisfying it--yes."

_The Viscount_ (becoming suddenly abstracted, and turning his piece of bread over and over in his fingers). "Now regarding--Mistress Clemency, my dear Bev; what do you think of her?"

_Barnabas_ (helping himself to more beef). "That she is a remarkably handsome girl!"

_The Viscount_ (frowning at his piece of bread). "Hum! d'you think so?"

_Barnabas_. "Any man would. I'll trouble you for the mustard, Dick."

_The Viscount_. "Yes; I suppose they would."

_Barnabas_. "Some probably do--especially men with an eye for fine women."

_The Viscount_ (frowning blacker than ever). "Pray, what mean you by that?"

_Barnabas_. "Your friend Carnaby undoubtedly does."

_The Viscount_ (starting). "Carnaby! Why what the devil put him into your head? Carnaby's never seen her."

_Barnabas_. "Indeed, I think it rather more than likely."

_The Viscount_ (crushing the bit of bread suddenly in his fist). "Carnaby! But I tell you he hasn't--he's never been near this place."

_Barnabas_. "There you are quite wrong."

_The Viscount_ (flinging himself back in his chair). "Beverley, what the devil are you driving at?"