“Yes.  You took my breath away for the moment.  I wonder at the way you men—­I mean, I wonder how you do it—­turnin’ money to such good account?  ‘Tis a gift I suppose; and you couldn’ teach me, even if you would.”

Cai received the compliment with a somewhat guilty smile.

“They tell me too,” she continued, “that you are standin’ for the Parish Council next month.”

“Who told you?”

“Oh . . . a little bird!”

Cai did not guess at ’Bias under this description.  “Well, you see, with this here Diamond Jubilee in the offing, there’s a feelin’ abroad that the town ought to sit up, as the sayin’ is—­”

“And you’re the man to make it sit up!” said Mrs Bosenna gaily.

“Well now, I want you to help me.”

Mrs Bosenna started, alert at once and on her guard; for the game of fence she had chosen to play with these two demanded a constant wariness.

But it seemed that for the moment Cai had no design to press his suit—­ or no direct design.

“It’s this way,” he explained.  “You know the stevedores, down at the jetties, are givin’ their usual Whit-Monday regatta—­Passage Regatta, as some call it?  Well, they’ve made me President this year.”

“More honours?”

“And I’ve offered a Cup; which seemed the proper thing to do, under the circumstances.  ’A silver cup, value 5 pounds, presented by the President, Caius Hocken, Esquire’:  it’ll look fine ’pon the bills, and it’s to go with the first prize of two guineas for sailin’ boats not exceedin’ fourteen feet over-all.  There’s what they call a one-design Class o’ these in the harbour:  which is good sport and worth encouragin’.  There’s no handicap in it either:  the first past the line takes the prize—­always the prettiest kind o’ race to watch.  Now the favour I ask is that, when the time comes, you’ll hand the Cup to the winner.”

“It—­it’ll look rather marked, won’t it?” hesitated Mrs Bosenna.  She had as small a disinclination as any woman to find herself the central figure in a show, and Cai (had he known it) was attacking one of the weakest points in her siege-defences.  But to accept this offer—­or (if you prefer it) to grant the favour—­meant a move on the board which might too easily lead to a trap.  “Besides,” she objected, “you can’t do that sort o’ thing without a few words, and I’ve never made a public speech in my life.”

“You leave the speechifyin’ to me,” said Cai reassuringly:  but it did not reassure her at all. ("Good gracious!” she thought.  “He’s not the sort to take advantage of it—­but if he did! . . .  You can never trust men.”)

Cai, misinterpreting the frown on her brow, went on to assure her further that he could manage a speech all right; at any rate, he would be able by Whit-Monday.  He had—­he would tell her in confidence—­been taking some lessons in elocution of (or, as he put it, “off”) Mr Peter Benny.