“I like boys,” he said. “'Ad two myself—'ealthy little nippers they was. Both dead-'ere to-day and gone to-morrer, as you might say. Got your nurse 'anging around anywhere?”
“Nurse?” said Jeremy indignantly. “I don't have a nurse. I'm much too old! There is a governess, but she's over there talking to Mary. She's my sister—but they won't bother yet—not till the Cathedral bell begins.”
“No intention of 'urting your feelings, young fellow my lad. Didn't think you'd want a nurse of course—big chap like you. Thought you might 'ave a baby brother or such. No offence—I suppose you 'aven't begun to smoke yet. Can't offer you some tobacco.”
Jeremy coloured. The man was laughing at him.
“I'm eight if you want to know,” he said, “and I'm going to school in September.”
“School!” said the mariner, sniffing contemptuously. “I don't think much of school if you ask me. Now I never went to school, and I can't see that I'm much the worse for not 'aving been there. Contrariwise—I've seen many a fine promising lad spoiled by too much schoolin'. Be a man of the world, I say; that's the direction you want to sail in.”
“Did you really never go to school?” asked Jeremy.
“Not I!” relied the sailor. “Flung out at the age of six, I was, turned into a boat sailing to the West Indies and left to shift for myself—and 'ere I am to-day a Captain of as fine a craft as you're ever likely to see, with gold in 'er lockers and peacocks in the 'old—all in a manner of speaking, you know.”
Jeremy's eyes glittered; his face was flushed a brilliant red. Hamlet had returned from his rabbit hunting and sat with his tongue out and a wild adventurous eye glittering up at his master from behind his hair, yet he was not noticed.
“You were very lucky,” he said devoutly, then he went on hurriedly: “Would you mind—you see, Miss Jones may come at any moment—would you mind—” he choked.