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It crossed Mrs Bosenna's mind that on the last occasion of her addressing a word to Walter Sobey he had been employed by her to cart manure for her roses: and across this recollection floated a sense of money wasted for to what service could Walter Sobey, inhabitant of a three-roomed cottage, put a two-handled loving-cup embossed in silver?
He backed a pace or two, gazed around, and caught the eye of the Hon. Secretary. "There's a money prize, too, attached to it ain't there?" he was heard to ask. "Leastways, 'twas so said 'pon the bills." Mr Sobey was proud of his victory; the prouder because he had built the winning boat with his own hands. "Certainly," agreed the Hon. Secretary. "Two guineas. Hi, there, aft! Where's Mr Willett?"
There was no time, however, for hesitation. . . . With the most gracious of smiles she took the cup in both hands, and presented it to the champion. "'Tis good, anyhow, to feel it goes to a neighbour: and and if the worst comes to the worst, Walter, you can always take it back to the shop and change it for something useful." "Thank 'ee, ma'am," said Mr Sobey, taking the cup respectfully.
Or-der for the speech!" Mrs Bosenna, recognising the champion in spite of his blushes, collected her courage, smiled, and said "Why, 'tis Walter Sobey!" "Servant, ma'am!" Mr Sobey touched his forelock again and grinned, as who should add, "You and me, ma'am, meets in strange places." "Well, I never! . . . How things do turn out!"
"Lord! he means hisself!" interrupted a giggling voice from one of the boats. This interruption called forth a storm of applause. Oars were rattled on rowlocks and feet began stamping on bottom boards. "By the Brave," continued Cai, pitching his voice higher, "I mean, of course, our respected fellow-citizen, Mr Walter Sobey, whose handling of his frail craft "
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