And then he was called from home again, being occupied
among other things with a vain enquiry about the recent false alarm.
For Carne and Charron had managed too well, and judged too correctly the
character of Vickers, to afford any chance of discovery. So that, when
the Admiral came home again, his calm and--in its fair state--gentle
nature was ruffled by the prosperity of the wicked.
"Oh, he is a fine judge of poetry, is he?" he said, more sarcastically
than his wont; "that means, I suppose, that he admires yours, Frank.
Remember what Nelson said about you. The longer I live, the more I find
his views confirmed."
"Papa, you are too bad! You are come home cross!" cried Dolly, who
always took Frank's part now. "What does my godfather know of poetry,
indeed? If he ever had any ear for it, the guns would have ruined it
long ago."
"No mostacchio in my house!" said the master, without heeding her. "I
believe that is the correct way to pronounce the filthy thing--a foreign
abomination altogether. Who could keep his lips clean, with that dirt
over them? A more tolerant man than myself never lived--a great deal too
tolerant, as everybody knows. But I'll never tolerate a son of mine in
disgusting French hairiness of that sort."
"Papa, you are come home as cross as a bear!" cried Dolly, presuming on
her favour. "Lord Dashville was here the other day with a very nice one,
and I hear that all Cavalry Officers mean to have one, when they can.
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