“Well, Jack,” said Tom Fairlie, after he had smoked in silence for a few moments, “first I went to the port-admiral’s office and saw Secretary Byng. He knows everything. Told me your father was gazetted, and would sail with his command in a few months’ time.”
“Glorious news, Tom. How pleased father will be!”
“Byng told me further that we must get men to fill up our complement, and fifty over, by hook or by crook.”
“Fifty over! that means fighting, Tom. Go on.”
“The hook and crook means pressment, Jack.”
“Well, well, I don’t like it; but it is all for the good of the service. Heave round, Tom.”
“Then I went to the post-office. Sly dog, am I? Well, perhaps. A letter from Flora, and one for you.”
Jack tore his open.
“Why, she has gone to live with dear old Father Spence at Torquay, Tom.”
“Yes, Jack, till the war is over. Then, if God but spares us all, I shall be your brother.”