Tickle merely smiled. The prospect did not alarm him.
So the next morning, at seven-thirty, Pincher, arrayed in his best clothes, left the ship with a sweet smile and a little bundle of necessaries done up in a blue-striped handkerchief. An hour later he was sitting in a third-class carriage on his way to London, munching a doubtful-looking sausage-roll, and listening to a slightly intoxicated sailor next to him, who insisted on giving the company what he called 'a little moosic.' It consisted of a few fragmentary remarks in a deep-bass rumble about the perils of a sailor's life, sudden hiccups as full stops, and frequent gurgling noises and sounds of enjoyment as the songster upended a quart bottle of Bass's light dinner ale, and applied the business end to his mouth. He eventually finished the song and the bottle at the same time, and, shying the latter playfully through the open window, volunteered to fight the whole carriage. This pleasure being denied him, he solemnly kissed the company all round, and then went comfortably off to sleep with his mouth wide open, his head resting affectionately on Pincher's shoulder, and his feet on the opposite man's lap. Thus he remained until they arrived at Waterloo, where, on disembarking, he never noticed that one of his carriage-mates, by the skilful use of a burnt cork, had decorated his upper lip with a large black moustache.
History does not relate if he arrived home in this condition, for, after vainly endeavouring to induce various laughing porters and the amused guard of the train to 'come an' 'ave a wet, ole dear!' and then, when they refused, wanting to show there was no ill-feeling by exchanging headgear, he was last seen proceeding at three and a quarter knots on rather an erratic course towards the nearest refreshment-room.
But Pincher got home safe and sound without any difficulties of this kind, and by four o'clock was in the bosom of his admiring family.
II.
The leave was all too short, though Pincher did succeed in attracting more attention than Tom Sellon, and was, after church on Christmas Day, the bashful recipient of a congratulatory speech and a golden sovereign from the squire.
Captain the Hon. James Lawson, J.P., the lord of the manor and a good many other things besides, was an old naval officer himself. He knew all the villagers by name, and took more than a passing interest in any of the boys who joined either the navy or the army. Pincher was aware of this, and imagined that he had received a pound, as against Tom Sellon's ten shillings the year before, because he happened to be a member of the senior service. As a matter of fact, it was due to nothing of the kind. It so happened that the squire had no smaller change in his waistcoat pocket.
But, at any rate, the news of Pincher's windfall was blurted far and wide, and his reputation rose accordingly. It was quite simple. If Thomas Sellon got ten shillings and William Martin a sovereign, obviously 1 Martin = 2 Sellons;∴ the two families almost came to blows to settle which was the better. Sellon père, in fact, felt himself so bitterly offended that he nearly went to the squire to complain. It was lucky for Captain Lawson that he didn't, for that would have cost the worthy squire another ten shillings to soothe his injured feelings.
The week flew by, and when Pincher returned to the ship and his Emmeline he soon settled down into the old routine. The girl, who seemed to have adopted him as her permanent 'young man,' now took it upon herself to correct the defects in his speech.
'Billy,' she said one day as they were walking arm-in-arm along the front at Weymouth, 'I don't like the way you talk.'