“Not a bit of it,” retorted the other, blinking away as he always appeared to do when excited. “That was only my joke. I will pay his fare for him when we get to Portsmouth; for, I like the pluck of the lad in climbing on to the train like that, and not being daunted by obstacles in carrying out a planned purpose. Can’t say much for his looks though. He seems to me half-starved.”
The latter observation was uttered in an undertone, the Captain having too much delicacy to comment on Dick’s appearance in his hearing. Miss Nellie, however, acted instantly on the suggestion, which gave it a practical turn.
“Are you hungry, poor boy,” she asked Dick—“very hungry?”
“No, miss,” he answered humbly; “not pertick’ler, I be.”
“But you could eat a sandwich, perhaps?” said she, opening a parcel which their mother had put up for the refreshment of Bob and herself during their journey. “Don’t you think you could?”
Dick’s eyes glistened.
“I’ll try, miss,” said he, trying to speak calmly; although they could see that he was really almost ravenous at the sight of the food. “I thinks as how I could eat a mou’ful.”
“Give him the lot, poor chap,” cried the old Captain; but Nellie did not need this admonition, being in the very act of handing over the parcel of sandwiches to Dick even while the old sailor spoke. “There’s no good in his making two bites of a cherry, as the saying goes.”
“Eat these, my poor boy,” cried Nellie. “Bob and I had buns at Waterloo before the train started, and we shan’t want anything till we get to auntie’s house.”
“Fire away, old chap!” chimed in Bob, noticing that the lad hesitated a moment in accepting the proffered gift. “You needn’t be afraid. Nellie and I are not hungry like you.”