“Instead of a soft stripling full of sap.”
“And not fit to stand against the blows of oak cudgels and the injured Arrowfield workmen,” said Uncle Dick.
“Oh, all right! Banter away,” I said. “I don’t mind. I shall grow older and stronger and more manly, I hope.”
“Exactly,” said Uncle Jack; “and that’s what we are aiming at for you, my lad. We don’t want to see you scorched by an explosion, or hurt by blows, or made nervous by some horrible shock.”
“I don’t want to be hurt, of course,” I said, “and I’m not at all brave. I was terribly frightened when I found the powder canister, and when I fell in the wheel-pit. I believe I was alarmed when I heard the men talking about what they were going to do; but I should be ashamed of myself, after going through so much, if I ran away, as they said you three would do.”
“How was that?” cried Uncle Bob.
“With your tails between your legs, regularly frightened away like curs.”
“They may carry us to the hospital without a leg to stand upon, or take us somewhere else without heads to think, but they will not see us running away in such a fashion as that,” quoth Uncle Dick.
“Boy,” said Uncle Jack, in his sternest way, “I would give anything to keep you with us, but I feel as if it has been a lapse of duty towards you to let you run these risks.”
“But suppose I had been made a midshipman, uncle,” I argued, “I should have always been running the risks of the sea, and the foreign climate where I was sent, and of being killed or wounded by the enemy.”