“If you are a good son to her you will never go wrong. And, mark my words, Mr. Rodney Stone, you should honour the King, love your country, and uphold the glorious British Constitution.” When I thought of the energy with which he had just been cursing the House of Commons, I could scarce keep from smiling, and I saw Sheridan put his hand up to his lips. “You have only to do this, to show a regard for your word, and to keep out of debt in order to insure a happy and respected life. What is your father, Mr. Stone? Royal Navy! Well, it is a glorious service. I have had a touch of it myself. Did I ever tell you how we laid aboard the French sloop of war _Minerve_—hey, Tregellis?” “No, sir,” said my uncle. Sheridan and Francis exchanged glances behind the Prince’s back. “She was flying her tricolour out there within sight of my pavilion windows. Never saw such monstrous impudence in my life! It would take a man of less mettle than me to stand it. Out I went in my little cock-boat—you know my sixty-ton yawl, Charlie?—with two four-pounders on each side, and a six-pounder in the bows.” “Well, sir! Well, sir! And what then, sir?” cried Francis, who appeared to be an irascible, rough-tongued man. “You will permit me to tell the story in my own way, Sir Philip,” said the Prince, with dignity. “I was about to say that our metal was so light that I give you my word, gentlemen, that I carried my port broadside in one coat pocket, and my starboard in the other. Up we came to the big Frenchman, took her fire, and scraped the paint off her before we let drive. But it was no use. By George, gentlemen, our balls just stuck in her timbers like stones in a mud wall. She had her nettings up, but we scrambled aboard, and at it we went hammer and anvil. It was a sharp twenty minutes, but we beat her people down below, made the hatches fast on them, and towed her into Seaham. Surely you were with us, Sherry?” “I was in London at the time,” said Sheridan, gravely. “You can vouch for it, Francis!” “I can vouch to having heard your Highness tell the story.” “It was a rough little bit of cutlass and pistol work. But, for my own part, I like the rapier. It’s a gentleman’s weapon. You heard of my bout with the Chevalier d’Eon? I had him at my sword-point for forty minutes at Angelo’s. He was one of the best blades in Europe, but I was a little too supple in the wrist for him. ‘I thank God there was a button on your Highness’s foil,’ said he, when we had finished our breather. By the way, you’re a bit of a duellist yourself, Tregellis. How often have you been out?” “I used to go when I needed exercise,” said my uncle, carelessly. “But I have taken to tennis now instead. A painful incident happened the last time that I was out, and it sickened me of it.” “You killed your man—?”