“Much he knows of my Aunt Matilda!” I said to Tom, as we watched the good-hearted fellow pulling back to the old tub on board of which we had passed through so much. “If he were acquainted with all the circumstances of the case I don’t think he’d advise my going home at all events!”
“I’m not quite sure of that, Martin,” replied Tom, who was now thoroughly tired of everything connected with the sea, vowing that, after the experience he had gained, he would not go afloat again, to be made “Lord High Admiral of England!”
“Well, we’ll deliberate about it,” said I, as we turned away from the jetty and walked towards the town, where our immediate intention was to enter a coffee-shop and get a substantial breakfast out of the funds which Jorrocks had so thoughtfully provided us with.
Here, Tom’s fate was soon decided; for, we had not long been seated in a small restaurant where we had ordered some coffee and bread-and-butter, which were the viands we specially longed for, than an advertisement on the front page of an old copy of the Times caught my eye.
It ran thus:—
“If Tom L—, who ran away from school in company with another boy on the night of November the Fifth and is supposed to have gone to sea, will communicate with his distressed mother, all will be forgiven.”
“Why, Tom,” said I, reading it aloud, with some further particulars describing him, which I have not quoted—“this must refer to you!”
“So it does,” said he.
“And what will you do?” I asked him.
“Well, Martin, I don’t like to leave you, but then you know my mother must be so anxious, as I told you before, that I think I’d better write to her.”