asked if he could assist her; she answered, through the medium of a sooty
animal at her helm, that she was (like our universities) "satisfied with
her own progress"; she added, being under intoxication, "that, if any
danger existed, her scheme was to drown it in the bo-o-owl;" and two days
afterward he saw her puffing and panting, and fiercely dragging a
gigantic three-decker out into deep water, like an industrious flea
pulling his phaeton.

And now it is my office to relate how Mr. Flucker Johnstone comported
himself on one occasion.

As the yacht worked alongside Granton Pier, before running out, the said
Flucker calmly and scientifically drew his lordship's attention to three
points:

The direction of the wind--the force of the wind--and his opinion, as a
person experienced in the Firth, that it was going to be worse instead of
better; in reply, he received an order to step forward to his place in
the cutter--the immediate vicinity of the jib-boom. On this, Mr. Flucker
instantly burst into tears.

His lordship, or, as Flucker called him ever since the yacht came down,
"the skipper," deeming that the higher appellation, inquired, with some
surprise, what was the matter with the boy.

One of the crew, who, by the by, squinted, suggested, "It was a slight
illustration of the passion of fear."

Flucker confirmed the theory by gulping out: "We'll never see Newhaven
again."