“Well, I never! . . .  How things do turn out!” It crossed Mrs Bosenna’s mind that on the last occasion of her addressing a word to Walter Sobey he had been employed by her to cart manure for her roses:  and across this recollection floated a sense of money wasted—­for to what service could Walter Sobey, inhabitant of a three-roomed cottage, put a two-handled loving-cup embossed in silver?

There was no time, however, for hesitation. . . .  With the most gracious of smiles she took the cup in both hands, and presented it to the champion.

“’Tis good, anyhow, to feel it goes to a neighbour:  and—­and if the worst comes to the worst, Walter, you can always take it back to the shop and change it for something useful.”

“Thank ’ee, ma’am,” said Mr Sobey, taking the cup respectfully.  He backed a pace or two, gazed around, and caught the eye of the Hon. Secretary.  “There’s a money prize, too, attached to it—­ain’t there?” he was heard to ask.  “Leastways, ’twas so said ’pon the bills.”  Mr Sobey was proud of his victory; the prouder because he had built the winning boat with his own hands. (Very luckily for him, at the last moment Captain Hocken had judged it beneath the dignity of a Regatta President to compete; and Captain Hunken, missing his rival at the starting-line, had likewise withdrawn from the contest.)

“Certainly,” agreed the Hon. Secretary.  “Two guineas.  Hi, there, aft!  Where’s Mr Willett?”

Other voices carried back the call, and presently the Treasurer, Mr Willett—­a pursey little man with enormous side-whiskers,—­came hurrying forward from the after-companion, where he had been engaged in hearing a protest from an excited disputant—­a competitor in the 16-foot class—­ who had in fact come in last, even on his handicap, but with a clear notion in his own mind, and an array of arguments to convince others, that he was entitled to the prize.  Such misunderstandings were frequent enough at Passage Regatta, and mainly because .Mr Willett, whom nobody cared to cashier—­he had been Treasurer for so many years,—­had as a rule imbibed so much beer in the course of the forenoon that any one argument appeared to him as cogent as any other.  He seemed, in fact, to delight in hearing a case from every point of view; and by consequence it could be securely predicted of any given race in Passage Regatta that “You had never lost till you’d won.”

Now, on Cai’s secret recommendation the Committee had engaged the boy Palmerston—­who was quick at sums—­to stand by Mr Willett during the forenoon and count out the cash for him.  The Treasurer (it was argued) would be suspicious of help from a grown man; whereas he could order a boy about, and even cuff his head on emergency.  So Palmerston, seated by the after-companion, had spent a great part of the morning in listening to disputes, and counting out money as soon as the disputes were settled.  Nor was objection taken—­as it might have been at more genteel fixtures—­to a part of the prize being produced from Palmerston’s mouth, in which he had a knack of storing petty cash, for convenience of access—­and for safety too, to-day, since he had discovered a hole in one of his pockets.