“What!” cried Barney, excitedly. “Master Syd going?”
“Yes, Barney,” cried the boy. “I’m going to be a sailor after all.”
The ex-boatswain showed every tooth in his head in a broad grin, slapped one hand down on the other, and cried in a gruff voice—
“Dear lad! There, your honours! The right stuff in him arter all. Can’t you get me shipped in the same craft with him, Sir Thomas? I’m as tough as ratline hemp still.”
“You going to sea, Master Syd?” said Pan, looking at the companion of his flight wonderingly.
“Yes, Pan; at once. Will you come?”
“Course I will, sir,” cried Pan. “Going to-day?”
“There—there, your honours! Hear that?” cried Barney, excitedly. “Aren’t that the right stuff too? Here, your honour, begging your pardon, that bit of rope’s-end’s mine.”
He caught up the rope, and gave it a flourish over his head.
“Here, stop! what are you going to do?” cried Sydney, dashing at him, and getting hold of one end of the rope.