“Nearly four years and a half, sir.”
“Well, the rest will soon be over; and if you do your duty, my patronage shall not be wanting.”
Here there was a bow on my part, and a pause, and I was backing out with another bow, when the captain said, “How is your mother, Mr Keene?”
“She has been advised to retire from business, and to settle in the country,” replied I, mournfully; “her health is such, that—” Here I stopped, as I preferred deceiving him by implication, or rather allowing him to deceive himself.
“I am sorry to hear that,” replied he; “but she never was strong as a young woman.” Here the captain stopped, as if he had said too much.
“No, sir,” replied I; “when in the service of Mrs Delmar she could not be put to anything that required fatigue.”
“Very true,” replied the captain. “You may go on board, Mr Keene, and desire my clerk to make out a letter, requesting your discharge from the Salvadore into the Manilla. Do you require anything?”
“No, sir, I thank you. I need not trespass on your generosity just now. Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, Mr Keene.”
“I beg your pardon Captain Delmar,” said I, as I held the door ajar; “but should you like Robert Cross, your former coxswain, should join you in the same capacity? I know where he is.”