"Yes, sometimes. I can't always," said Jack truthfully.
"Well, as often as you can. And little or big you'll not forget you're Jack, the Englishman, who'll speak the truth and be brave and ready to fight for your country if need be."
"Yes," said Jack, squaring his shoulders a little.
"And I'll write to you from every port—Aunt Betty will show you on the map the ports my ship will touch at—and when I get home I shall write to you every week."
That promise brought a smile to Jack's twitching lips.
"Oh, but that's splendid! A letter all my own every week," he said, beginning to jump about with excitement at the prospect.
"Will it have my name written upon the envelope?"
"Why, yes. How else should the postman know whom it's for? You'll have to write to me, you know."
That proposition did not sound quite so delightful, and Jack's forehead puckered a little. He remembered the daily tussle over his copy-book.
"I don't write very well just yet," he said.