The soft gleam of the lamps showed a very pleasant group in the roomy,
comfortable saloon. A stout, black-bearded man lounged carelessly on a
sofa, supporting himself with one huge hand as the vessel kicked
awkwardly. He looked as if he had been born with a smile, and every line
of his great face was disposed so as to express vast contentment and
good-humour. You could not call him finely bred, but when he observed,
in terrific bass tones, "Hah! Miss Dearsley, you have gazed on the
what's-his-name; you love the storm; you find it fahscinating--oh!
fahscinating; ah! fahscinating! I like an ignoble cabin and a pipe, but
the what's-his-name is fahscinating--ah! fahscinating." His infectious
good-humour was better than any graces. Then his pride in his phrases
was very fine to behold, and he regarded his repetition of his sonorous
adjective as quite an original thing in the way of pure rhetoric. Tom
Lennard was by inheritance a merchant, by choice a philanthropist; he
was naturally religious, but he could not help regarding his
philanthropic work as a great frolic, and he often scandalized reformers
of a more serious disposition. The excellent Joseph Naylor, who was
never seen to smile, and who was popularly supposed to sleep in his
black frock-coat and high stock, once met Tom on a platform. When Tom
was introduced to the prim, beneficent Joseph his enthusiasm overcame
him; he brought his colossal paw down on Mr. Naylor's shoulder so that
the poor man showed signs of shutting up like a concertina inside the
frock-coat; he squeezed Joseph's hand so fervently that the poor victim
looked like a dentist's patient, and Thomas roared like an amiable Bull
of Bashan, "Bah! Aw'm glad to see this day, sir. To think we should meet
at last! Ah! fahscinating!--oh! fahscinating."

Mr. Naylor bore the shock like a true philosopher, but at home that
evening he mildly observed, "My dear, our new ally, Mr. Lennard, is most