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Quiller-Couch, Arthur Thomas, Sir, 1863-1944

"The Mayor of Troy"

Wapshott, still with his vague smile, titubated a moment,
advanced with a sort of circumspect dancing motion to the rail of the
poop, laid two shaking hands upon it, heaved a long sigh, and nodded
affably.
"_Tha's_ all right. Where else?"
"Look there, sir!" Captain Crang wagged a forefinger at the crowd in
the scuppers. "I want your explanation of _that!_"
Mr. Wapshott brought his gaze to bear on the point indicated; but not
until he had scanned successively the deck gratings, the rise of the
forecastle and the main shrouds.
"Re-markable," he answered slowly. "Mos' remarkable. One funniest
things ever saw in my life. Wha's yours?"
"My what, sir?"
"Eggs. Eggs-planation. Mus' ask you, sir, be so good hear me out."
"Good Lord!" With a sudden look of horror Captain Crang let go his
hold of the poop-ladder and staggered back against the bulwarks.
"You don't mean--you're not telling me--that _I_ brought that
menagerie aboard last night!" His gaze wandered helplessly from the
first officer to the crew forward.
"Now then, Bill, steady does it," whispered Mr. Jope, and saluted
again. "You'll excuse me, sir, but Mr. Wapshott was below last night
when we brought you aboard from dinin' with his R'yal Highness."
"I remember nothing," groaned Captain Crang. "I never _do_ remember
when--and before the Duke too!"
Mr. Jope coughed. "His R'yal Highness, sir--if you'll let me say
so--was a bit like what you might call everyone else last night.


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