Little Jack sat grave and very quiet, pondering deeply.
"What's the man's name, father? The man you're telling about."
"Jack, a Jack who will be well content if he can help to do something big in conquering the giant Air. It's your father who is the man of the story. I promised it should be a true one."
Jack's answer seemed a little irrelevant. He slipped from his father's knee and took his hand, trying with all his might to pull him up from his chair. "Come, father, come quick and see how big I've grown. Aunt Betty measures me every month, and says I'm quite a big boy for my age."
Wondering at the sudden change of subject, the Captain humoured his little son, and allowed himself to be dragged to the hall where, against the doorpost of one of the rooms, Jack's height was duly marked with a red pencil.
"Aunt Betty's right. You're quite a big boy for only seven years old."
"I knewed it," cried Jack, in rapturous exultation, "so you'll take me along with you, dear, and we'll hit at that old giant Air together. Oh, I'm so glad, so glad to be big."
"Not so fast, sonny," said the Captain, gently gathering him again into his arms. "You're a big boy for seven years old, but you're altogether too young for me to take you to England yet."
Jack's face went white as the sailor suit he wore, and his great round eyes filled to the brim with tears, but by vigorous blinking he prevented them from falling down his cheeks.
"You said—perhaps when I was big you'd take me with you."