“All’s right, Tom;—well, then, I’ll go as a passenger, and you shall be pilot.”
“Why must you go at all, father? Why not go to Greenwich by the stage?” exclaimed Bessy. “When will you leave off, my dear father? Surely you’ve enough now, and might let Tom go without you.”
“Quite enough money, but not quite enough of the salt water yet, Bessy,” replied Bramble; “and when I do travel, I won’t go by land, when I can sail under canvas.”
“Well, you may go this time, father, but this is the last: if you won’t leave off, I will not stay here, that’s positive; so when you come on shore some fine day, you may expect to find me absent without leave.”
“Very well; then I’ll send Tom to look after you: he’ll soon bring you back again.”
“Tom! he wouldn’t take the trouble to look after me.”
“Very true,” replied I: “every woman who requires looking after is not worth the trouble; but I’ve no fear but we shall find you when we come back.”
“Tom, I hate you,” replied Bessy. “Why do you not join me in persuading father to stay on shore?”
“Well, if you hate me, Bessy, it proves, at all events, that I’m not indifferent to you,” said I, laughing; “but really and truly, Bessy, I do not consider there is any very great risk in your father going up the river with me, as he will be in smooth water before dark.”
“Well, but, allowing that, why should father go at all?”