The beard of Thomas Sylvester Hobhouse
still wagged between us. Till I had got rid of that black hirsute horror
I was not going to risk my chances of happiness. It was pitch dark, I
admit, but then in certain delicate situations, well, if I were a girl I
should strongly object, especially if I knew it were dyed and didn't know
if the dye would run.
And so we sent up the reinforcements, and then I saw her home, and
hurried back myself with a dancing heart to meet the others.
XIX
OUR MORNING CALL
John Whiteclett and the three prisoners went aboard at once, but the
doctor and I easily persuaded my uncle to spend the night with us. He was
very stiff, poor old boy, after his exertions, and went early to bed, but
I had a busy night of it. With the aid of the doctor's razors and the
doctor's medical skill I finally got rid of the beard and the dye about 2
a.m. and went to sleep a clean-shaved blonde once more.
During breakfast next morning, I noticed more than once my uncle's eyes
fixed on me in a very significant way, and Dr. Rendall seemed to notice
it too, for when breakfast was over he tactfully left us to ourselves.
"H'm, you have lost no time in making yourself look like a Christian
again, I notice," my uncle began.
"I lost no time in beginning, sir, but I assure you it was a devilish
stiff conversion.
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