“Huzza! We’re Homeward bound.”
And now it seemed as if our difficulties were at an end, for the passage to Kingston, Jamaica, was a pleasant one, and we took our berths from there in the mail, which landed us in safety at Southampton, without a soul suspecting the nature of the treasure that we had on board, one which we had gone through so much peril to obtain.
It was a fine evening in July, that, after leaving my uncle and the others at a comfortable London hotel, Tom and I, after a quick run down by rail, found ourselves once more in the streets of the little town which we had left upon our setting off to foreign lands in quest of our fortunes.
How familiar everything seemed and yet how shrunken! Houses that I used to consider large appeared to have grown small, and people that I had been in the habit of considering great and important, somehow looked as if they were of no consequence at all.
“Lor’, look ye there, Mas’r Harry, they’re practising in the cricket field. What a while it seems since I have handled a bat! Come and give us a few balls, the chaps would be glad enough to see us.”
“No, no, Tom,” I said hastily, “I want to see the old people.”
“Oh, yes, of course, I forgot all about that, Mas’r Harry. I haven’t got no one to see.”
“Why, what about Sally?” I said.
“Pooh, it’s all nonsense! What stuff! How you do talk, Mas’r Harry!” he cried indignantly. “Just as if Sally was anything to me!”
“Come, Tom,” I said, “you know you were always very great friends.”