The first thing he did, when he emerged, was to give that sixpence to a small gutter-snipe girl. She examined it wonderingly.
"'Taint a reel un, is it boss?"
"Yes, quite, go and buy buns for yourself."
"Well, you be a softy, anyhow," she cried and darted off, shrieking with delight. And, next moment, Kep ran right up against Jack himself.
"Come to bring you back home, sonny," said the kindly fellow. "Make sure, you know, that you don't fall into mischief."
About two hours after this, Kep might have been seen in the tap-room of the Blue Ensign piping to a lot of jolly young sailors, as he stood on the top of a table. A position, which I must admit was a trifle infra dignitate--beneath the dignity--of Keppel Drummond, only son of a lord of a manor. But Kep enjoyed it and so did the blue-jackets.
Well, Kep had supper with the landlady, Katie and Jack, in the cosy bar parlour, quite a private party, be assured, and a very merry one as well. This happened after ten o'clock, when the house was shut up for the night.
To have seen Kep now, and heard his ringing laughter, as Jack spun his droll service yarns, you could scarce have believed that he had any sorrow at all at his heart. He did have though, and it is not easy to forget so happy a home as that which he had just forsaken, only care lies lightly on the shoulders of a lad of fourteen. He compounded with his conscience, moreover, by promising to write nice letters home the very next morning.
He bade his friends good-night at last, and was shown up to his little room, a bit rough, perhaps, but everything as sweet and clean as new silver.
Never a dream, and it was far into the morning before the sun shimmering in through the window awoke him, and soon he was down to breakfast. There came word now that the Breezy was off, and so she was. Jack and Kep started for the Hoe to see her sail past.