That very morning, after a good sound night’s rest, the boy woke with the sun shining brightly into his bedroom, and he got up thinking he had over-slept himself, but on looking round he found that his hot-water can had not been brought in, nor his freshly-brushed boots and clothes, so he rang impatiently.
“Disgraceful!” he said peevishly. “Ned thinks of nothing now but the voyage, and everything is neglected.”
But all the same his bell was not neglected, for in a very short time there was a sharp tap at the door, and as the lad stood by his bedside in his dressing-gown, the white top of a pith helmet appeared slowly, followed by the lower part of a grinning face, a dark-brownish coarse canvas jacket, or rather a number of pockets stuck one above another, and attached to a pair of canvas sleeves; and next, a pair of leather breeches, ditto leggings, and to support all a very stout pair of lace-up boots.
As soon as all were inside the door, a familiar voice said—
“Morning sir. You are early.”
“Early!” cried Jack angrily; “what do you mean by early?”
“Ten past six, sir.”
“Nonsense! it must be nearly eight.”
“Then all the clocks are wrong, sir, including my larum-scarum, for I set it for half-past five, so as to be up early and try ’em on.”
“And what do you mean by coming here dressed up in that Guy Fawkes fashion?”