Sometimes the boy wore darned breeches himself, his mother compelling him. There was something in common, then, between him and his hero.
Nelson turned suddenly to find the boy's eyes brimming with laughter.
Across his face swept a great white anger.
"This is scarcely a matter for giggling, Mr. Carvell," he cried terribly. "It seems to me that you by no means realise the astounding nature of the charge you bring. If it prove true, it means the hanging of a brother-officer before the Fleet. If not—His Majesty will have no further need of your services."
"The powder-magazine will tell its own story," replied Kit, curt as an insulted girl. "Ask it."
Nelson's eye flashed.
"I'm not in the habit of receiving suggestions from my midshipmen, Mr.
Carvell."
"You doubt my word!" with a sob.
"I doubt your story, sir. And I've good reason to. My officers are not in the habit of selling me. But we can soon have the truth."
He opened the door.