The
only interruptions to the weary uniformity of the life at St. Crux were
caused by the characteristic delinquencies of old Mazey and the dogs.
At certain intervals, the original wildness broke out in the natures of
Brutus and Cassius. The modest comforts of home, the savory charms of
made dishes, the decorous joy of digestions accomplished on hearth-rugs,
lost all their attractions, and the dogs ungratefully left the house to
seek dissipation and adventure in the outer world. On these occasions
the established after-dinner formula of question and answer between old
Mazey and his master varied a little in one particular. "God bless
the Queen, Mazey," and "How's the wind, Mazey?" were followed by a new
inquiry: "Where are the dogs, Mazey?" "Out on the loose, your honor,
and be damned to 'em," was the veteran's unvarying answer. The admiral
always sighed and shook his head gravely at the news, as if Brutus and
Cassius had been sons of his own, who treated him with a want of proper
filial respect. In two or three days' time the dogs always returned,
lean, dirty, and heartily ashamed of themselves. For the whole of the
next day they were invariably tied up in disgrace.
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