“I know he will be late,” sighed Mrs Strong, looking after him. “I know he will be late.”
“Well, if he is, he will be left behind, that’s all I can say,” said his father, with decision. “I’m afraid Master Bob has too much of his own way; and, it is just as well he should be taught a lesson sometimes.”
Thus giving his fiat, Mr Strong, apparently dismissing Bob for the present from his mind, hurried the preparations of the others, so that they, at least, should be in good time; and, some twenty minutes after the truant had left, he and Mrs Strong and his sister, with Nellie, started for the pier, arriving there just as the Captain came up in a great hurry, stepping along as briskly as he and his malacca cane could get over the ground.
“Where’s Bob?” he at once asked, missing the absentee. “Where’s Bob?”
“He’s gone to bathe,” replied poor Nell, very disconsolately. “He said he’d get here as soon as we did, but he hasn’t come yet, and I’m afraid he’ll be too late.”
“That he will,” said the Captain, looking equally distressed. “I hear the steamer’s bell ringing—in fact, I heard it before, and that made me quicken my movements. The stupid fellow!—Why did you let him go?”
“Wilful would have his way,” answered Mr Strong, shrugging his shoulders. “It is his own fault, and he must suffer the consequences. Come on, you people; I don’t see why we should sacrifice our trip, at any rate.”
Mrs Gilmour and his wife tried in vain to combat the barrister’s resolution, suggesting that the excursion might be postponed; but he would not consent to this for a moment.
“No,” he said determinedly, “this is the only day we could go; for, when the boat next leaves for Southampton, we’ll most probably be back in town.”
So saying, he pushed them all through the turnstile before him, and taking their tickets, including one for Bob, in case he still contrived to turn up in time, led the way to the steamer, which was blowing off her steam alongside the pier, as if in the greatest haste to start.