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“What’s that?”

“It’s–it’s another establishment,” said Nandy.

“Respectable? You’ll excuse my askin’–“

“Tisn’ for me to judge,” said Nandy; “but they sit about the garden in their nightshirts, with a footman carryin’ round the drinks.”

V.

Well, sir, half an hour later Dr. Clatworthy and his patients were enjoying their mud-baths in the garden, up at Hi-jeen Villa, and the doctor had just begun to think about getting his water-douche and dressing himself to keep his appointment with Miss Sophia and the rest of the young ladies, when the back-door opened and what should he see entering the garden but Mr. Jope, with all his bedizened company!

“Hi, you there!” shouted the doctor from his bath. “Get out of this garden at once! Who are you? and what do you mean by walking into private premises?”

For a moment Mr. Jope stared about him, wondering where in the world the voice came from. But when he traced it to the garden-beds, and there, in the midst of the flowers, spied a dozen human heads all a-blowing and a-growing with the stocks and carnations, his face turned white and red, and his eyes grew round, and he turned and stared at Bill Adams, and Bill Adams stared at Mr. Jope.

“Bill,” said Mr. Jope, “is it–is it an earthquake?”

“Tis a Visitation o’ some kind,” said Bill. “I’ve heard o’ such things in Ireland.”

“Oh, Bill! an’ to think that in another minute, if we hadn’ arrived–” Mr. Jope caught hold of his mate’s arm and hurried him forward to the rescue.

“Go away! Get out of this, I tell you!” yelled Clatworthy.

“Not me, sir! Not a British sailor!” hurrahed back Mr. Jope. “Bill! Bill! Cast your eyes around and see if you can find a bit of rope anywheres in this blessed garden–and you, behind there, stop the women’s screeching!” –for ’tis a fact that by this time two or three were falling about in the hysterics–“What! Not a loose end o’ rope anywheres? Lord, how these landsmen do live unprovided! But never you mind, sir!–reach out a hand to me an’ don’t struggle–that is, if you’re touching bottom. Strugglin’ only makes it worse–“

“You silly fool!” shouted Clatworthy. “We’re in no danger, I tell you! Begone, and take the women away with you. These grounds are private, once more!”

“Hey?” Mr. Jope by this time had one foot planted, very gingerly, on a flower-bed, and was reaching forth a hand to Clatworthy; and Clatworthy, squatting up to his chin in the warm mud, was lifting two naked arms to beat him off. “Private, hey?” says Mr. Jope, looking around and seeing the rest of the patients bobbing up and down in their baths between the rage of it and shame to show themselves too far. “Private? Then it oughtn’t to be–that’s all I say. But what in thunder are ye doing it for?”

“Oh, get you gone, man!” groaned Clatworthy. “I’ve an appointment to keep!”

“Not in that state, sure-ly?”

“No, sir! But how am I to get out of this and dress, till you lead off the women? And your cursed intrusion has made me fill my hair with mud, and to cleanse and dress it again will cost me half an hour at least. Man, man, for pity’s sake get out of this and take your women with you! Sir, when I tell you that in less than twenty minutes I am due to be at Merry-Garden–if you know where that is–“

“To be sure,” put in Mr. Jope.

“–To meet a company of ladies–“

“Avast there! Why, ’tis less than a half-hour ago they turned me out o’ that very place. You–and in that state! Oh, be ashamed o’ yourself!”

But just then a patient behind Clatworthy set up a yell so full of terror that even the doctor slewed round his head and splashed more mud over his hair, all combed as it was in full pigeon-wing style.