“Of course not; and I would not have accepted him if I had not felt sure of you, Giles, my boy; so come along and let’s have something to eat.”
“But you have not yet told me, Bob,” said Jackman, while the three friends were discussing their meal, “what part of the world you intend to visit. Does your father give you leave to go wherever you please, and stay as long as you choose?”
“No; he limits me to the Western Isles.”
“That’s an indefinite limitation. D’you mean the isles of the Western Pacific?”
“No; only those of the west of Scotland. And, to tell you the truth, I have no settled or definite plan. Having got leave to use the yacht all the summer on condition that I don’t leave our own shores, I have resolved to begin by running at once to the wildest and farthest away part of the kingdom, leaving circumstances to settle the rest.”
“A circumstantial account of the matter, no doubt, yet rather vague. Have you a good crew?”
“Yes; two men and a boy, one of the men being skipper, and the nearest approach to a human machine you ever saw. He is a Highlander, a thorough seaman, hard as mahogany and about as dark, stiff as a poker, self-contained, silent, except when spoken to, and absolutely obedient.”
“And we set sail to-morrow, early?” asked Barret.
“Yes; after seeing the morning papers,” said Mabberly with a laugh.
This, of course, turned the conversation on the accident, much to the distress of Barret, who feared that the jovial, off-hand reckless man from the “woods and forests” would laugh at and quiz him more severely than his friend Bob. To his surprise and great satisfaction, however, he found that his fears were groundless, for Jackman listened to the account of the incident quite gravely, betrayed not the slightest tendency to laugh, or even smile; asked a good many questions in an interested tone, spoke encouragingly as to the probable result, and altogether showed himself to be a man of strong sympathy as well as high spirits.