But Cai had lifted a hand.  “No quarrelling, please!” he commanded, and resumed, “As I was sayin’, ladies and gentlemen—­or as I was about to say—­the handlin’ of a small boat demands certain gifts or, er, qualities; and these gifts and, er, qualities bein’ the gifts and h’m qualities what made England such as we see her to-day,—­a sea-farin’ nation an’ foremost at that,—­it follows that we cannot despise them if we wish her to occupy the same position in the futur’—­which to my mind is education in a nutshell.”

Again the scornful laugh echoed from the back of the crowd, and this time Cai knew the voice.  It stung him the more sharply, as in a flash he recollected that the phrase “education in a nutshell” belonged properly to a later paragraph, and in his flurry he had dragged it in prematurely.  His audience applauded, but Cai swung about in wrath.

“My remarks,” said he, “don’t seem to commend themselves to one o’ my hearers.  But I’m talkin’ now on a subjec’ about which I know som’at,—­ not about ploughin’.”

The thrust was admirably delivered,—­the more adroitly in that, on the edge of delivering it, he had paused with a self-depreciatory smile.  Its point was taken up on the instant.  The audience on deck sent up a roar of laughter:  and the roar spread and travelled away from the ship in a widening circle as from boat to boat the shrewd hit was reported.  Distant explosions of mirth were still greeting it, when Cai, finding voice again, and wisely cutting out his prepared peroration, concluded as follows:—­

“Any way, friends and naybours, I can wind up with something as’ll commend itself to everybody:  and that is by wishin’ success to Passage Regatta, and askin’ ye to give three cheers for Mrs Bosenna.  Hip—­hip—­”

“Hoo-ray! hoo-ray! hoo-ray!” The cheers were given with a will and passed down the river in rolling echoes.  But before the last echo died away—­while Mrs Bosenna smiled her acknowledgment—­as the band formed up for “God Save the Queen”—­as they lifted their instruments and the bandmaster tapped the music-stand with his baton,—­at the top of his voice ’Bias delivered his counter-stroke.

“And one more for Peter Benny!”

There was a momentary hush, and then—­for Troy’s sense of humour is impartial, and everyone knew from what source Captain Hocken derived his public eloquence—­the air was rent with shout upon shout of merriment.  Even the band caught the contagion.  The drummer drew a long applausive rattle from his side-drum; the trombone player sawing the air with his instrument, as with a fret-saw, evoked noises not to be described.

In the midst of this general mirth—­while Cai stood his ground, red to the ears, and Mrs Bosenna plucked nervously at the tassel of her sunshade—­’Bias came thrusting forward, shouldering his way through the press.  But ’Bias’s face reflected none of the mirth he had awakened.

“I mayn’t know much about ploughin’, Cai Hocken—­” he began.