Part 5 (1/2)

”Well, I oughtn't to give you credit. What are you going to Portsmouth for?”

The boy choked for a moment, and felt annoyed at the question.

”To say good-bye to my Papa before he goes. I must go directly, or he will be gone.”

”But a return's ever so much more, squire.”

”I'll be sure and pay you when I come back.”

The clerk hesitated, but he knew that the young traveller lived at The Pool House, and that his father had gone by the mid-day train, so he said good-humouredly: ”Look here; you'd better have a third return; that's two s.h.i.+llings, and you can pay me one, and give me the other to-morrow.”

”Yes, please,” cried the Skipper eagerly.

”Here she comes too,” said the clerk, and he took the first-cla.s.s ticket, juggled another in the stamping-machine, and dabbed it down through the pigeon-hole.

”Oh, thank you,” cried the Skipper, s.n.a.t.c.hing it up, and rus.h.i.+ng towards the door.

”Hi! you haven't paid,” shouted the clerk, and the boy ran back, with his face scarlet, to place his bright s.h.i.+lling on the little bracket.

”That's your sort,” said the clerk; ”don't you forget you owe me another.” But the Skipper did not hear him, being half-way to the door, and then, ran panting out on to the platform, just as the train glided in.

The porter knew him, clipped his ticket, and he, being the only pa.s.senger from the little station, opened the carriage door, gave it a third-cla.s.s bang, which, as everyone knows, is three times as loud as a first-cla.s.s bang, and the next minute, with Bob's heart beating hard like the throbbing of the engine, the eventful journey began.

There was only one other pa.s.senger in his compartment, and he was asleep, but his presence was quite comforting to Bob, for he was a sailor, who had placed his canvas bag in a corner for a pillow, and was snoring loudly, with his mouth open, and his hat had fallen on the floor.

The Skipper sat watching the man for a few minutes, as the train rattled along, and then, got softly down, picked up the hat, and placed it on the seat in front of the man, noticing as he did so, that it bore on the riband ”H.M.S. Taurus.”

This was comforting too, and the boy felt as if he had met a friend; but the man slept on till the train slackened speed, and then pulled up with a jerk, while Bob was looking out, to read the name of the station.

Then he started round, for from the far corner the sailor shouted fiercely: ”This Portsmouth?”

”No, sir, it's Pately,” said the Skipper, in alarm.

”Ho!” grunted the man. ”Mustn't miss my station,” and he was settling himself down to sleep again, when, as he glanced at his fellow-traveller, he caught sight of the Skipper's rig-out.

”What cheer, messm't!” he cried boisterously. ”Whither bound?” and his features expanded into a broad grin.

”Portsmouth,” said the Skipper.

”Right you are, messm't. So'm I. What s.h.i.+p? 'Flash,' eh! My stars! You aren't a middy, are yer?”

”Not yet,” said the boy; ”but I'm going to be some day.”

”Right you are,” cried the man again; and Bob felt as if he should like to tell the man he ought to say, ”You are right;” but the man went on, still looking him over from head to foot: ”Then you aren't going to jyne the 'Flash'? she's a-lying out yonder.”

”No,” said the Skipper, ”I am only going to see my father. He's the Captain.”

To Bob's astonishment the man jumped up, pulled his forelock, and kicked out his right leg behind.

”Why didn't you say you was a orficer afore?” he cried. ”Going to see your father, eh! Well, now, that is rum. I've just been to see my old mother at Ringwood, and going back to my s.h.i.+p--_Old Bull_.”