"Oh, I beg pardon." 'Bias corrected himself with a snort of contempt. "'Peter Benny's words,' maybe I should have said: but 'education in a nutshell' was the expression." "I'll take you up--when and where you please, and for any money," Cai challenged, white to the lips and shaking with rage. "A five-pound note, if you will." "As you please. . . . I haven't five pound here, upon me." "Nor I, as it happens. But here's a sovereign for earnest." "Here's another to cover it, anyway. Who'll hold the stakes? . . . Will you, ma'am?" Cai appealed to Mrs Bosenna. "Certainly not," she answered, tapping the deck angrily with the ferrule of her sunshade. "And I wonder how you two can behave so foolish, before folks." But for the moment they were past her control. "Here . . . Pam! Pam will do, eh?" "Well as another." "Right. Here Pam, take hold o' this sovereign and keep it careful!" "Mine too. . . . That makes the wager, eh?" "For five pounds?" "Five pounds. Right. "Boats?" "I don't care. Our own two, or draw lots for any two here, as you please." "But--gentlemen!" interposed the Hon. Secretary. "Now, don't you start interferin'"--Bias turned on him sullenly. "Else you might chance to get what you don't like." "Oh, they're mad!" wailed Mrs Bosenna, and Dinah was heard to murmur, "You've pushed' em too far, mistress: an' don't say as I didn' warn you!" "I--I was only goin' to suggest, gentlemen," urged the Hon. Secretary, "it bein' already ten minutes past noon, and everybody waitin' for 'God Save the Queen.'" "Hullo!" hailed a voice alongside, at the foot of the accommodation table; and Mr Philp's top hat, Mr Philp's deceptively jovial face, Mr Philp's body clad in mourning weeds, climbed successively into view. "There, naybours!" he announced. "I'm in the nick of time, after all, it seems,--though when I heard the church clock strike twelve it sent my heart into my mouth." He stood and panted. "Ah! good-day, Mr Philp!" Mrs Bosenna turned, hailing his intervention, and advanced to shake hands. "Good-day to you, ma'am. Been enjoy in' yourself, I hope?" said Mr Philp, somewhat taken aback by the warmth of her greeting. "A most successful Regatta . . . don't you agree?" "I might, ma'am," answered Mr Philp solemnly. "I don't doubt it, ma'am. But as a matter of fact I have just come from a funeral." "Oh! . . . I--I beg your pardon--I didn't know--" "There's no call to apologise, ma'am. . . . The deceased was not a relative. A farm-servant, ma'am--female--at the far end of the parish: Tuckworthy's farm, to be precise: and the woman, Sarah Jane Collins by name. Probably you didn't know her. No more did I except by sight: but a very respectable woman--a case of Bright's disease. In the midst of life we are in death, and, much as I enjoy Passage Regatta--" "You have missed it then?"