“Yes, to London. You can’t start being a man in this one-eyed old town; you’d simply vegetate.”
“You see, aunt,” he began, timidly, “there are people—people I should like to say good-bye to. They’ve all been very kind to me, and I shouldn’t like them to think——”
“That you were turning your back on them in a hurry, eh? You’re quite right, boy; only I don’t want to stop here forever, and you must get your farewells done with. How many of these people are there? Half the town full, I suppose?”
“Oh, no,” replied Comethup, laughing; “there’s only the captain and—and ’Linda——”
She caught him up swiftly on that name. “Halloo! who’s ’Linda?”
“A—a little girl,” said Comethup faintly.
“Oh, you dog! you’ve begun precious early. Why, you oughtn’t to know what a petticoat means at your age. Is she pretty, child?”
“Very pretty,” said Comethup, with an air of deep conviction.
She rocked herself over her stick and laughed delightedly, and shook him by the shoulders. “I like you the better for it; we’ll make a man of you all the more easily. I suppose you’ll break your heart, or hers, when you leave her?”
“I shall be very sorry,” replied the boy, “and I think she’ll be sorry too.”