“That won’t do for me,” said the admiral, positively, shaking his head.
“I am particularly sorry, Admiral Bell, that it will not, seeing that I
have nothing else to say.”
“I see how it is; you’ve put him out of the way, and I’m d—d if you
shan’t bring him to life, whole and sound, or I’ll know the reason why.”
“With that I have already furnished you, Admiral Bell,” quietly
rejoined Varney; “anything more on that head is out of my power,
though my willingness to oblige a person of such consideration as
yourself, is very great; but, permit me to add, this is a very strange
and odd communication from one gentleman to another. You have lost a
relative, who has, very probably, taken some offence, or some notion
into his head, of which nobody but himself knows anything, and you come
to one yet more unlikely to know anything of him, than even yourself.”
“Gammon again, now, Sir Francis Varney, or Blarney.”
“Varney, if you please, Admiral Bell; I was christened Varney.”
“Christened, eh?”
“Yes, christened—were you not christened? If not, I dare say you
understand the ceremony well enough.”
“I should think I did; but, as for christening, a——”
“Go on, sir.”
“A vampyre! why I should as soon think of reading the burial service of
a pig.”
“Very possible; but what has all this to do with your visit to me?”
“This much, you lubber. Now, d—n my carcass from head to stern, if I
don’t call you out.”
“Well, Admiral Bell,” said Varney, mildly, “in that case, I suppose I
must come out; but why do you insist that I have any knowledge of your
nephew, Mr. Charles Holland?”
“You were to have fought a duel with him, and now he’s gone.”
“I am here,” said Varney.
“Ay,” said the admiral, “that’s as plain as a purser’s shirt upon a
handspike; but that’s the very reason why my nevey ain’t here, and
that’s all about it.”
“And that’s marvellous little, so far as the sense is concerned,” said
Varney, without the movement of a muscle.
“It is said that people of your class don’t like fighting mortal men;
now you have disposed of him, lest he should dispose of you.”
“That is explicit, but it is to no purpose, since the gentleman in
question hasn’t placed himself at my disposal.”
“Then, d——e, I will; fish, flesh, or fowl, I don’t care; all’s one to
Admiral Bell. Come fair or fowl, I’m a tar for all men; a seaman ever
ready to face a foe, so here goes, you lubberly moon manufactured calf.”
“I hear, admiral, but it is scarcely civil, to say the least of it;
however, as you are somewhat eccentric, and do not, I dare say, mean
all your words imply, I am quite willing to make every allowance.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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