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It was Bridget Cookson, who had been to Kendal for the day, and had walked over from Grasmere, where the char-
There may be another indeed, but the issue of an alliance so startling, and produced under circumstances so dubious, that Mr. Cookson will not own it until he sees the flower. It does not fall within the scope of this chapter to analyze the list of this gentleman's triumphs, but even savants will be interested to hear a few of the most remarkable crosses therein, for it is not published.
I advise my readers to be daring, even desperate. It is satisfactory to learn that Mr. Cookson intends to make a study of bi-generic hybridization henceforward. The common motive for crossing orchids is that, of course, which urges the florist in other realms of botany. He seeks to combine tints, forms, varied peculiarities, in a new shape.
An attempt was made to give chase to the fleeing Turks on the river during the night, when Lieutenant Commander Cookson, the senior naval officer, with his ship, the destroyer Comet, and several other smaller vessels set out after them. The Turks fired on the boats from the shore, and the Comet, which had steamed in close to the bank, was assailed with hand grenades by the enemy.
The following evening, on their going round to the consulate as usual to hear if he had received any news of the Wild Wave, Mr. Cookson said, "I had a telegram an hour since, lads, saying that your ship arrived in the Thames yesterday, and asking if I had any news of you.
But Bridget Cookson was not admiring the view. It was not new to her, and moreover she was not in love with Westmorland at all; and why Nelly should have chosen this particular spot, to live in, while George was at the war, she did not understand. She believed there was some sentimental reason.
They said they had heard of "Ugumu," i.e., Messrs Hatton and Cookson, but they did not trade direct with them, passing their trade into towns nearer to the Rembwe, which were swindling bad towns, they said; and they got the idea stuck in their heads that I was a trader, a sort of bagman for the firm, and Gray Shirt could not get this idea out, so off one of their majesties went and returned with twenty-five balls of rubber, which I bought to promote good feeling, subsequently dashing them to Wiki, who passed them in at Ndorko when we got there.
Meanwhile Bridget Cookson was living in her usual Bloomsbury boarding-house, holding herself quite aloof from the idle ways of its inmates, who, in the midst of the world-war, were still shopping as usual in the mornings and spending the afternoons in tea and gossip. Bridget, however, was scarcely employing her own time to any greater profit for a burdened country.
Cookson and Brooks with 250 men stood for hours between Clements and absolute disaster. The camp was abandoned as it stood, and all the stores, four hundred picketed horses, and, most serious of all, two wagons of ammunition, fell into the hands of the victors.
Bridget Cookson was about thirty; not precisely handsome, but at the same time, not ill-looking. Her eyes were large and striking, and she had masses of dark hair, tightly coiled about her head as though its owner felt it troublesome and in the way. She was thin, but rather largely built, and her movements were quick and decided.
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