Armadale!" added the major's daughter. "Do go on,
Mr. Pedgift!"
"One of them doesn't know the words, and the other doesn't know
the music," said Mrs. Pentecost. "Let them go on if they can!"
"Sorry to disappoint you, ma'am," said Pedgift Junior; "I'm ready
to go on myself to any extent. Now, Mr. Armadale!"
Allan opened his lips to take up the unfinished melody where
he had last left it. Before he could utter a note, the curate
suddenly rose, with a ghastly face, and a hand pressed
convulsively over the middle region of his waistcoat.
"What's the matter?" cried the whole boating party in chorus.
"I am exceedingly unwell," said the Reverend Samuel Pentecost.
The boat was instantly in a state of confusion. "Eveleen's Bower"
expired on Allan's lips, and even the irrepressible concertina
of Pedgift was silenced at last. The alarm proved to be quite
needless. Mrs. Pentecost's son possessed a mother, and that
mother had a bag. In two seconds the art of medicine occupied the
place left vacant in the attention of the company by the art of
music.
"Rub it gently, Sammy," said Mrs. Pentecost. "I'll get out the
bottles and give you a dose.
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