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I heard an exclamation both from Jean and the doctor. "Son?" said Jean. "What! Did you think Jock was a Scollay?" "He was sent up here about a couple of years ago to be looked after by these Scollays," explained the doctor. "We always supposed he was somebody's ?" he glanced at Jean and hesitated "er somebody's son." "Good Heavens!" I cried. "What a fool I've been!"
In that somewhat distant year 1875, when the telegraph and the Atlantic cable were the most wonderful things in the world, a tall young professor of elocution was desperately busy in a noisy machine-shop that stood in one of the narrow streets of Boston, not far from Scollay Square. It was a very hot afternoon in June, but the young professor had forgotten the heat and the grime of the workshop.
Now matters were already getting to be "shipshape," and no observer could fail to note the increased comfort enjoyed by Cap'n Ira and Prudence. Nor need Tunis feel anxious, either, regarding the girl's state of mind or body. She was so blithe and cheerful that he could scarcely recall the picture of that girl who had waited upon him in the cheap restaurant on Scollay Square.
"Yes; John Scollay and several of us have asked General Robertson to intercede with Howe. He has done so, but Howe will make no promise. He has permitted a flag of truce to go out to Mr. Washington to let him know if the British are molested he will set the town on fire. If Mr. Washington is the kind-hearted man they say he is, probably he will not make an attack.
Emerging at Scollay Square, and walking a few blocks, they came to a window where guns, revolvers, and fishing tackle were displayed, and on which was painted the name, "Timothy Mulally." Mr. Tiernan entered. "Is Tim in?" he inquired of one of the clerks, who nodded his head towards the rear of the store, where a middle-aged, grey-haired Irishman was seated at a desk under a drop light.
Scollay warily. Now I decided to give them the John Bull turn. "No German ships I am sure!" I cried through a mouthful of porridge. "They are cowards! They will not venture here no fears! They fear our brave sailors too much! Aha! We know that, eh?" They agreed as coldly as I could wish. Evidently I was producing a thoroughly bad impression.
Climbing up with uncomfortable feelings at his heart as to the reception he might meet with, he gained the upper deck. The first person he encountered was an old man with weather-beaten features, but a kind expression of countenance, Andrew Scollay by name, a boat-steerer, who was at that moment about to descend.
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