It was some time before Tim would speak; but when once he did open his heart to his newly made friend, he told the entire story from the time he ran away from Captain Babbige's house up to this last whipping he had received. When he had concluded, he said, in the most sorrowful tone, "I jest wish I was dead, Bobby; for there don't seem to be anybody in all this great big world who wants to have me 'round, 'less it is to lick me when they ain't got nothin' else to do."
"I wouldn't stand it, Tim: that's what I wouldn't do," said Bobby, indignantly. "I'd jest leave this old boat the very first time she stops."
But Tim had more wisdom now than he had the day he ran away from Captain Babbige, and he said, mournfully: "Where could I go if I did run away again? Nobody wants me an' Tip, an' we've got to have somethin' to eat."
This way of putting the matter rather confused Bobby; he had never known what it was to be without a home, and Tim's lonely position in the world opened his eyes to a new phase of life.
"I'll tell you what you can do; you can come to my house, an' stay jest as long as you want to."
Tim shook his head; he remembered the invitation given by Sam Simpson, and how it had been seconded by his parents, and he did not care for more of the same experience.
"But you can't stay here, an' let Captain Pratt knock you 'round."
Tim assented to this; but still he did not see how he could prevent it, unless he was willing to risk suffering in another form.
"I s'pose I'll have to go up stairs an' show the Captain that I ain't in bed," he said, as a shudder of seasickness came over him again. "It must be as much as ten minutes since I was there."
"I wouldn't go," said Bobby, stoutly; "I wouldn't let him think I was afraid of him."