“I don’t see why I shouldn’t,” he said, half drowsily, for a strange sensation of weariness came over him. “I should like to be a sailor. Why not go? Tom Bodger would help me to get a ship; and as uncle is going to send me away, talking as if he had quite done with me, I don’t see why I shouldn’t go.”
The drowsy feeling increased, so that the boy to keep it off began to look over his clothes, thinking deeply the while, but in a way that was rather unnatural, for his hurts had not been without the effect of making him a little feverish. And as he thought he began to mutter about what had taken place that afternoon.
“Uncle can’t like me,” he said. “He has been kind, but he never talked to me like this before. He wants to get rid of me, to send me away somewhere to some place where I shouldn’t like to go. I’ve no father, no mother, to mind my going, so why shouldn’t I? He’ll be glad I’m gone, or he wouldn’t have talked to me like that.”
Aleck rested his throbbing head upon his crossed arms and sank into a feverish kind of sleep, during which, in a short half-hour, he went through what seemed like an age of trouble, before he started up, and in an excited, spasmodic way, hardly realising what he was doing in his half-waking, half-sleeping state, but under the influence of his troubled thoughts, he roughly selected a few of his under-things for a change and made them up into a bundle, after which he counted over the money he had left after the morning’s disbursement, and told himself it would be enough, and that the sooner he was away from the dear old Den the better.
At last all his preparations were made, even to placing his hat and a favourite old stick given him by his uncle ready upon the chair which held his bundle; and then, with his head throbbing worse than ever, producing a feeling of confusion and unreality that was more than painful, he went once more to the glass to look at his strangely-altered features.
“I can’t go like that,” he said, shrinking back in horror. But like an answer to his words came from far back in his brain, and as if in a faint whisper: “You must now. You’ve gone too far. You must go now, unless you’re too great a coward.”
“Yes,” he muttered, confusedly; “I must go now—as soon as it’s dark. Not wanted here—Tom Bodger—he’ll help me—to a ship.”
He had sunk heavily into a chair, right back, with his head nodding forward till his chin rested upon his breast, and the next moment he had sunk into a feverish stupor, in which his head was swimming, and in some unaccountable way he seemed to be once more heavily engaged with Big Jem, whose fists kept up a regular pendulum-like beat upon his head, while in spite of all his efforts he could never get one blow back in return at the malicious, jeering, taunting face, whose lips moved as they kept on saying words which nearly drove him wild with indignation.
And what were the words, repeated quite clearly now?
“Master Aleck, don’t be so silly! Wake up, you’re pretending to be asleep. Oh, my! what a state your face is in! And your head’s as hot as fire.”