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

"The Mayor of Troy"

Recovering himself, he glanced at it
perfunctorily and nodded to the sailors to give way and pull towards
the hull of the infernal machine.
The curiosity which had brought him down to Portsmouth to inspect it
seemed, however, to have evaporated. The gig fell alongside the
coffin-like log, and the Port Admiral, having taken the clockwork out
of Captain Crang's hand, had launched into an explanation of its
working when the Prince signified hurriedly that he had seen as much
as he desired. Back to the ship the gig drifted on the tide, and
Captain Crang, dismissed with a curt nod, stepped on to the ladder
again, turned, and saluted profoundly.
As he did so, the Major, erect above the bulwarks, found speech.
"Your Royal Highness!" he cried. "Nay, but pardon me, your Royal
Highness! If I may crave the favour--explanation--a prisoner,
unjustly detained--"
The Prince Regent lifted his eyes lazily as the bowman thrust off.
"What a dam funny-looking little man!" commented he aloud, nudging
the Port Admiral, who had risen and was calling out the order to give
way for shore.
"But, your Royal Highness!--"
The Major raised himself on tiptoe with arms outstretched after the
receding boat. On the instant the ship shook under him as with an
earthquake, and drowned his voice in the thunders of a royal salute.
"The Emperor Jovinian, Mr. Jope--"
"Who was 'e?" Mr.


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