“I ran you in as one of the family, Wally,” said the squatter.
“Thanks awfully, sir,” said Wally, gratefully.
People were coming aboard quickly; though there were so few passengers, the Perseus was a popular ship, and many came to see her off. The first of the three warning bells clanged out sharply above the din.
“Come and have tea,” said David Linton. “I told them to have it ready at first bell.”
They crowded round the biggest table in the saloon, while the stewards brought tea. Every one was becoming a little silent; there seemed suddenly a great many things to say, but no one could remember any of them. No one wanted tea at all, except the soldier boys, who drank immense quantities, and did their best to keep the conversation going. Aunts and cousins heaped on Norah good advice about the journey. Edward Meadows stared at his young brother’s bright face—a sudden fear at his heart lest he should be looking at it for the last time.
“He’s such a kid,” he said inwardly. “I wonder if we ought to be letting him go.”
On the deck, after the second bell had brought them up from the saloon, he drew David Linton aside.
“You’ll take care of him, if you get a chance, won’t you, sir? He’s only a kid.”
“To the utmost of my ability,” said Mr. Linton, gravely. “He is like my own son to me.”
Then came the final bell, and with it a sudden gust of good-byes. Telegraph-boys came racing up the gangway with belated messages. Every one was trying to say twenty farewells at once.