“Those are our sentiments, sir,” echoed Ned and Fred—“to be of some service to the British, and help to wipe out those ugly stains that now lie on our flag.”
“My lads,” answered Mr Raybold, gravely, “it is not that I do not trust you, but that I fear to risk you. What has to be done is our business, not yours—men’s work, not boys’.”
“Where a father goes, surely it is a son’s duty to follow,” said Clarence.
“We’ll take the risk. And if we are boys, we are able to fight as well as most men, and run a good deal faster, if running is the game,” added Ned, with a flash in his eyes.
“Besides,” said Fred, quietly, “we know too much already not to know more.”
Philip Martin laughed, and cried—
“That clinches it, I fancy. Come, Mr Raybold, I’d rather have these three youngsters in our ranks than a dozen of some fellows I know.”
“I must yield, I suppose,” answered Mr Raybold, with a regretful sigh. “Only I wish I could have kept you out of this hornets’ nest, Clarence. Be careful, though, now that you are about to become conspirators, for we have a very wily enemy to hoodwink.”
He went over to where the cigars were and took one, which he cut and lit, while he offered the box to Philip.
“I’ll call the committee meeting for half-past ten. That will give you time to look round the town, Philip.”