"My Artemisia," said Mr. Badcock, "was no exception; though a powerful woman and well able to look after herself." "'Tis their privilege," agreed Captain Pomery. "You must allow 'em a few." "But contrariwise," Billy resumed, "it must be stronger than I reckoned, for here I be safe, as you may say, and here I should be grateful; whereas I bain't, and, what's more, my appetite's failin'. Be you goin' to give me something for it?" he asked, as Mr. Badcock dived a hand suddenly into a tail pocket and drew forth what at first appeared to be the neck of a bottle, but to closer view revealed itself as the upper half of a flute. A second dive produced the remainder. "Good Lord! Badcock has another accomplishment!" ejaculated Mr. Fett. "The gift of music," said Mr. Badcock, screwing the two portions of the instrument together, "is born in some. The great Batch--John Sebastian Batch, gentlemen--as I am credibly informed, composed a fugue in his bed at the tender age of four." "He was old enough to have given his nurse warning," said Mr. Fett. "With me," pursued Mr. Badcock, modestly, "it has been the result of later and (I will not conceal the truth, sirs) more assiduous cultivation. This instrument"--he tapped it affectionately--"came to me in the ordinary way of trade and lay unredeemed in my shop for no less than eight years; nor when exposed for sale could it tempt a purchaser. 'You must do something with it,' said my Artemisia--an excellent housewife, gentlemen, who wasted nothing if she could help it. I remember her giving me the same advice about an astrolabe, and again about a sun-dial corrected for the meridian of Bury St. Edmunds. 'My dear,' I answered, 'there is but one thing to be done with a flute, and that is to learn it.' In this way I discovered what I will go no further than to describe as my Bent." Mr. Badcock put the flute to his lips and blew into it. A tune resulted. "But," persisted Billy Priske, after a dozen bars or so, "the latest thing to be mentioned was my appetite: and 'tis wonderful to me how you gentlemen are letting the conversation stray, this afternoon." "The worst of a flute," said Mr. Badcock, withdrawing it from his lips with obvious reluctance, "and the objection commonly urged by its detractors, is that a man cannot blow upon it and sing at the same time." "I don't say," said Billy, seriously, "as that mayn't be a reas'nable objection; only it didn't happen to be mine." "You have heard the tune," said Mr. Badcock. "Now for the words-- "I attempt from love's sickness to fly, in vain, Since I am myself my own fever and pain." "Bravo!" my father cried. "Mr. Badcock has hit it. You are in love, Billy, and beyond a doubt." "Be I?" said Billy, scratching his head. "Well, as the saying is, many an ass has entered Jerusalem." CHAPTER XI. WE FALL IN WITH A SALLEE ROVER.