‘Ah! I remember your father, Loveday,’ the gallant seaman replied. ‘Well, what do you want to say to me?’ Seeing that Bob found it rather difficult to begin, he leant leisurely against the mantelpiece, and went on, ‘Is your father well and hearty? I have not seen him for many, many years.’
‘Quite well, thank ’ee.’
‘You used to have a brother in the army, I think? What was his name—John? A very fine fellow, if I recollect.’
‘Yes, cap’n; he’s there still.’
‘And you are in the merchant-service?’
‘Late first mate of the brig Pewit.’
‘How is it you’re not on board a man-of-war?’
‘Ay, sir, that’s the thing I’ve come about,’ said Bob, recovering confidence. ‘I should have been, but ’tis womankind has hampered me. I’ve waited and waited on at home because of a young woman—lady, I might have said, for she’s sprung from a higher class of society than I. Her father was a landscape painter—maybe you’ve heard of him, sir? The name is Garland.’
‘He painted that view of our village here,’ said Captain Hardy, looking towards a dark little picture in the corner of the room.
Bob looked, and went on, as if to the picture, ‘Well, sir, I have found that— However, the press-gang came a week or two ago, and didn’t get hold of me. I didn’t care to go aboard as a pressed man.’