"Course. Go by first train if you want to."
That was enough for the boy, who was disgusted with life on board a privateer. He hastened below, and in less than twenty minutes presented himself in Beardsley's cabin with his "grip" in one hand and a paper in the other.
"That's a leave of absence," said Marcy, placing the paper before the captain. "I don't suppose it is drawn up in proper form, but it will serve to show the people at home that I am there with your permission. I'd be glad if you would sign it."
The captain did so without a word of objection, gave Marcy a few messages to be delivered to his friends in and around Nashville, and promised to look out for his share of the prize money.
"You can keep it, if you can bring yourself to touch it," thought the boy, as he walked ashore, after shouting good-by to the crew, and bent his steps toward the nearest telegraph office. "It would burn my hands."
He sent a dispatch to his mother requesting that Morris might be sent to meet him at the depot at a certain time, and to allay any fears that might be awakened in her mind by his sudden return to Newbern, he announced that the privateer had just brought a valuable prize into port. Those few words sent the dispatch through without a cent's worth of expense to himself.
"So you are one of those gallant fellows, are you?" said the operator. "Well, I'll send it off and call it square. You deserve a world of credit."
"I can't for the life of me see where an armed vessel wins credit in capturing one that is entirely without means of defense," replied Marcy, who had heard so much of this sort of talk since he reached Newbern that he was tired of it.
"But that isn't the point," said the operator. "See what a blow you have struck at the enemy's commerce. Keep it up long enough and you will drive his hated old rag from the sea."
Marcy had another ride with Morris, who was at the depot waiting for him when his train came in, and reached home at last to receive a tearful welcome from his mother.