“Why, what do you mean? Now, look here, Rodd; don’t you tell me that you want to back out of going upon this trip.”
“Oh no, uncle,” cried the boy eagerly. “I want to go, of course!”
“But what are you afraid of?”
“Well, you see, uncle, coasting about with you in a fisherman’s lugger for a few days, and always keeping within sight of land, is one thing; going right away across the ocean is quite another.”
“Well, sir, who said it wasn’t?” cried Uncle Paul. “What then?”
“Suppose I turn ill, uncle?”
“Well, sir, suppose you do. Am I not doctor enough to put you right again?”
“Oh, I don’t mean really ill, uncle. I mean sea-sick; and it would seem so stupid.”
“Horribly; yes. You’d better be! Pooh! Rubbish! Nonsense! You talk like a great Molly. Now, no nonsense, Rodney. Speak out frankly and candidly. You mean that now it has come to the point you think it too serious, and you want to shirk?”
“I don’t, uncle; I don’t, indeed, and I do wish you wouldn’t call me Rodney!” cried the boy earnestly.