“Oh, these are your stowaways, are they, Mr. Purser?” said he. “So you have run away from school, have you, you young scamps? Do you know I could put you in irons and take you back to Southampton if I chose? I’m not sure but that I ought to do it. How am I to know that you are not running away from the law?”
At this accidental shot Percy and I felt very uncomfortable, perceiving which, and supposing that he had hurt our feelings, the Captain changed his tone.
“Well, well,” said he, good-naturedly, “I don’t think that; your appearance is in your favour; you look like an honest pair of youngsters. So you want to work your passage, do you? Is either of you any good at figures?”
“Yes, sir,” said I, brightening up in a moment, and pointing with my thumb at Percy. “Goodall, here, is a regular nailer.”
“Oh, Goodall is a regular nailer, is he?” repeated the Captain, relaxing into a smile. “Well, Mr. Purser, suppose you take this nailer and set him to work in your office. Keep him tight at it; make him earn his passage. And you, you great hobbledehoy,”—to me,—“what can you do? Your hands are more use to you than your head, I’ll wager.”
I suppose my wits were somewhat confused by this sudden address; at any rate, after a moment’s consideration, I commenced the enumeration of my capabilities by saying thoughtfully:
“Well, sir, I’m a pretty good shot with a bow and arrow”—at which absurd reply both the Captain and the Purser burst into peals of laughter.
“How old are you, boy?” asked the former as soon as he had recovered his powers of speech.
“Sixteen, sir.”
“Sixteen! I thought you were eighteen. Are you willing to shovel coal for a living for the next two weeks?”