“Hallo! old chap,” he whispered, “what have you been up to now? Wigging from the skipper? I’ll go and tell the Tanner, and we’ll get clean handkerchiefs for a good cry.”
Chapter Eight.
My Plan.
“Shut the door, Mr Herrick,” said the captain, as he threw himself into a chair, and I obeyed and remained standing there.
“Come close up to the table, my lad, and I’ll hear what you have to say, for I should be sorry to discourage a young officer who was in earnest about his profession, as I have noted that you seem to be.”
“Thank you, sir,” I faltered, as I walked forward to where the swinging lamp cast its full light on my face, making my eyes ache, after being so many hours in the darkness, while I noticed that the captain sat in the shade.
“Now, Mr Herrick,” he said, “I talked of one fable, let me say a word about another. I hope this is not going to be a case of the mountain in labour, and out crept a mouse.”
This put me quite out of heart, my hands grew damp, and I felt a tickling sensation of dew forming upon my temples and at the sides of my nose. My throat felt dry, and my lips parted, but no words came.