“Of course. Mind the tailor makes his clothes big enough, for as soon as he gets to sea he’ll grow like a twig.”
Syd sat stirring his coffee, and taking great bites out of his bread and butter, as the words of Pan came back to him—“If he does I shall run away, so there!”
Chapter Three.
There was something tempting about that idea of being measured for a uniform, though Syd declared to himself he hated it. All the same, though, he went down the garden to where Barney was digging that morning, and after a little beating about the bush, asked him a question he could have answered himself, from familiarity with his father’s and uncle’s garb.
“I say, Barney, what’s a captain’s uniform like?”
“Uniform, my lad?” said the old boatswain, seizing the opportunity to rest his foot on his spade, and began rubbing the small of his back, or rather what is so called, for Barney had no small to his back, being square-shaped like a short log. “Well, it’s bloo coat, and white weskutt and breeches, and gold lace and cocked hat, and two gold swabs on the shoulders.”
“And what’s a lieutenant’s like?”
“Oh, pooty much the same, lad, only he’s on’y got one swab on ’stead o’ two. But what’s the good o’ your asking?—you’ve seen ’em often enough in Southbayton.”