Because of this jewel that was for ever dangled before his eyes, Ernie bore a good deal without complaining.
A youth who had enlisted with him, and for much the same reason, induced his people to buy him out after six months.
Ernie made no such attempt.
"I'm going through with it now," he said. "Want to see a bit before I'm done and take em home a tale or two."
After a spell of service in Ireland, at the close of the South African War, when Ernie was turned twenty, the expected call came.
A draft was going out to join the First Battalion of the Hammer-men at Jubbulpore, and Ernie went with it.
The cheering transport dropped down the Thames one misty November afternoon, passing hay-laden barges, timber ships from the Baltic, and rusty tramps from all over the world.
The smell of the sea, so familiar and so good, thrilled Ernie's susceptible heart. It spoke to him of home, of the unforgotten things of childhood, of his passing youth, of much that was intimate and dear. He spent most of that first evening on deck, long after dark, in spite of the drizzle, watching the coast lights.
Once they passed quite close to a light-ship, swinging desolately on the tide.
"What's that?" he asked a sailor.