“What would you like to be?”
“Something abroad. Something—so that you could see things.”
“A soldier?”
“Or a sailor, miss.”
“A sailor sees nothing but the sea.”
“I’d rather be a sailor than a common soldier, miss.”
“You’d like to be an officer?”
“Yes, miss—only—”
“One of my very best friends is an officer,” she said, a little irrelevantly it seemed to Bealby.
“I’d be a Norficer like a shot,” said Bealby, “if I ’ad ’arf a chance, miss.”