“He’s a-sitting in the garden looking at his flowers,” she replied. “Will you go through?” Captain Trimblett went through. His head was erect and his face and eyes blazing. A little old gentleman, endowed with the far sight peculiar to men who have followed the sea, who was sitting in a deck-chair at the bottom of the garden, glimpsed him and at once collapsed. By the time the captain reached the chair he discovered a weasel-faced, shrunken old figure in a snuff-coloured suit of clothes sunk in a profound slumber. He took him by the arms and shook him roughly. “Yes? Halloa! What’s matter?” inquired Captain Sellers, half waking. Captain Trimblett arched his hand over his mouth and bent to an ear apparently made of yellow parchment. “Cap’n Sellers,” he said, in a stern, thrilling voice, “I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” The old man opened his eyes wide and sat blinking at him. “I’ve been asleep,” he said, with a senile chuckle. “How do, Cap’n Trimblett?” “I’ve got a bone to pick with you,” repeated the other. “Eh?” said Captain Sellers, putting his hand to his ear. “A—bone—to—pick—with—you,” said the incensed Trimblett, raising his voice. “What do you mean by it?” “Eh?” said Captain Sellers, freshly. “What do you mean by saying things about me?” bawled Trimblett. “How dare you go spreading false reports about me? I’ll have the law of you.” Captain Sellers smiled vaguely and shook his head. “I’ll prosecute you,” bellowed Captain Trimblett. “You’re shamming, you old fox. You can hear what I say plain enough. You’ve been spreading reports that I’m going to—” He stopped and looked round just in time. Attracted by the volume of his voice, the housekeeper had come to the back door, two faces appeared at the next-door windows, and the back of Mr. Peter Truefitt was just disappearing inside his summer-house. “I know you are talking,” said Captain Sellers, plaintively, “because I can see your lips moving. It’s a great affliction—deafness.” He fell back in his chair again, and, with a crafty old eye cocked on the windows next door, fingered a scanty tuft of white hair on his chin and smiled weakly. Captain Trimblett controlled himself by an effort, and, selecting a piece of paper from a bundle of letters in his pocket, made signs for a pencil. Captain Sellers shook his head; then he glanced round uneasily as Trimblett, with an exclamation of satisfaction, found an inch in his waistcoat-pocket and began to write. He nodded sternly at the paper when he had finished, and handed it to Captain Sellers. The old gentleman received it with a pleasant smile, and, extricating himself from his chair in a remarkable fashion considering his age, began to fumble in his pockets. He went through them twice, and his countenance, now lighted by hope and now darkened by despair, conveyed to Captain Trimblett as accurately as speech could have done the feelings of a man to whom all reading matter, without his spectacles, is mere dross.