“No, no; of course not. I mean the other,” cried Bob.
“Why, what did I say?”
“You said ‘Poor boy!’” exclaimed the middy.
“Of course I did,” said Miss Linton, raising her eyebrows.
“Say it again, please,” said Bob.
“Poor boy! I am very sorry for him.”
“That does me a deal of good,” cried Bob excitedly. “You know I can’t stand it, Miss Linton, for you to think of him as a man and of me as only a boy.”
“Why, you silly, foolish boy!” she said, laying her hand upon his shoulder, and gazing full in his face, “of course I think of you both as what you are—a pair of very brave lads, who will some day grow to be officers of whom England will be very proud.”
“If—if I’m not a man now,” said Bob, in a low, husky voice, “I shall never grow to be one.”
“Not grow to be a man? Why, what do you mean?” said Miss Linton.