“Yes; tell the cook to fry some salmon cutlets,” continued the Captain; and then apologetically to his son: “Lawrence likes fish.”
As the maid backed out of the room the Captain rose from the table.
“Come along, my boy,” he said; “we’ll finish our breakfast with him.”
Nic followed his father into the hall, and then through the garden and up to the edge of the cliff, passing William Solly on his way back after hoisting the flag, which was waving in the sea-breeze.
“Quite right, William,” said the Captain as the old sailor saluted and passed on. “Nothing like discipline, Nic, my boy. Ha! You ought to have been a sailor.”
The next minute they had reached the flagstaff, from whence they could look down at the mouth of the river, off which one of the king’s ships was lying close in, and between her and the shore there was a boat approaching fast.
As father and son watched, it was evident that they were seen, for some one stood up in the stern-sheets and waved a little flag, to which Nic replied by holding his handkerchief to be blown out straight by the breeze.
“Ha! Very glad he has come, Nic,” said the Captain. “Fine fellow, Jack Lawrence! Never forgets old friends. Now I’ll be bound to say he can give us good advice about what to do with those scoundrels.”
“Not much in his way, father, is it?” said Nic.
“What, sir?” cried the Captain fiercely. “Look here, boy; I never knew anything which was not in Jack Lawrence’s way. Why, when we were young lieutenants together on board the Sovereign, whether it was fight or storm he was always ready with a good idea. He will give us—me—well, us—good advice, I’m sure. There he is, being carried ashore. Go and meet him, my boy. I like him to see that he is welcome. Tell him I’d have come down myself, but the climb back is a bit too much for me.”