"You are certainly cleaner than you used to be," said he.
The captain had to hear all about the fight off Cherbourg, where Dicky sailed in under the very guns of the forts and made the Frenchman come out to fight. It seemed very unequal at first, as the Frenchman had the most men and the most metal. But Dicky plainly had the most seamanship, and, in a running fight that lasted four hours, he cut the French ship up so that at last, when she struck, nothing but a tow line and her nearness to Portsmouth saved her from going to the bottom. Both the Frenchman and Dicky were too far gone to carry the prisoners back to Portsmouth. These had been transferred to another vessel, but Dicky had the Frenchman's captain and her ensign and ten guns, which was good for Dicky.
Dicky was dying to ask Captain Sarsfield about Polly; but, although he had been gazetted three times, he was so afraid of the captain that he could not get it out to save his life until just as Captain Sarsfield was leaving.
"And—how—how is Miss Polly?" asked Dicky, looking sheepish and blushing furiously.
"Very well," answered the captain, "and at present paying me a little visit. When you come to dinner to-morrow you will see her. She is quite a young lady—sixteen her last birthday."
Young ladies grew up earlier then, and sixteen was considered quite old. So Dicky went, and found Polly a grown-up young lady, with full muslin skirts down to her heels, a short-waisted bodice belted just under her arms, and a large poke-bonnet. Dicky was very shy, but Polly was not, and rallied him unmercifully, even cruelly alluding to the smut on his nose, which she had remembered all those years.
Things were very pleasant about that time to Dicky; but then the war closed soon after, much to Dicky's disgust, who had wild dreams of commanding a fifty-gun sloop of war at least before Boney was finally done for; and Dicky saw, disconsolately enough, that he was well off to have got the little Hornet, and that he would not get anything better for a long while.
Meanwhile, Dicky had been making hay while the sun shone, and a day had come when he went on board the Indomptable to ask Captain Sarsfield a very important question indeed—which was whether Polly and himself could get married. Dicky was terribly frightened, but managed to appear tolerably self-possessed as he sat in Captain Sarsfield's cabin, although he could not help twiddling his cap desperately under the table. The captain was as grave and stern as ever, and gave Dicky no manner of help while he was blundering and floundering about, trying to tell the captain how much he loved Polly, although it was perfectly plain that Captain Sarsfield, or anybody with half an eye, for that matter, must have known directly what ailed Dicky.
Then Dicky told the captain that he had a snug sum of prize money put by, which should be Polly's, and the captain had said that Polly was not quite dowerless, and the whole thing was arranged, Captain Sarsfield shaking Dicky's hand formally, and wishing the young couple might be as happy as he and Polly's mother had been, long years ago. And for a wonder, Captain Sarsfield appeared to think that perhaps Polly and Dicky might have something to say to each other, and considerately stalked up and down the quarter-deck for a full hour, while the young ones had a rapturous interview in the cabin. When Dicky got back to the Hornet, he sent for Barham, who was his first-lieutenant, and they hugged each other and danced round in the cabin very much as they had done when they found amusement in catching cockroaches in the old Xantippe.
Polly and Dicky were to be married in the spring. Dicky was cruising about the English Channel, getting into Portsmouth for a few days every month, where the Indomptable was lying awaiting her turn to be overhauled and repaired, for she too had got a shot or two from Boney before he got away to Elba.