'It must be clear to you, George, that I cannot countenance this escapade. What should I say to my old friend—if we ever meet again—were I to allow his son to do a foolish thing, and put forth no hand to save him from his folly?'
One glance at the fine, inflexible face told George that pleading would be thrown away; so he said as quietly as he could: 'Very good, sir. I would rather serve under you than under any one; but since you won't have me, I shall enlist as soon as we reach New Zealand.'
'You are not going there in this ship,' the colonel said curtly.
This was a facer, and George caught his breath. He had reckoned without his host. He had a sickening sense of what was coming.
'Now, George, you know your duty as well as I do,' went on the colonel. 'Make your father understand that you can't adopt the—er—profession he has in view for you—I don't blame you for that; quite the contrary—but don't try to persuade yourself that you are doing anything heroic in running away from home like a schoolboy.'
'Well, sir,' answered George in his quietest manner, 'if I can't go in this ship, I will in another.'
Colonel Cranstoun's gesture indicated impatience. 'I must inspect the men before we pass the Heads,' he said. 'Listen to me, George. I am going to send you back in the tug; but I want you to promise me that when you reach Sydney you will go straight home.'
'No, sir; I will make no such promise.'
The colonel's temper departed with startling suddenness. 'You obstinate young dog!' he roared. 'I don't wonder your father thrashed you. Give me your promise, or I'll have you clapped in irons and handed over to the master of the tug.'
'I shall make no promise, whatever you do,' retorted George.