“I want to know where I’m to have my dinner,” bawled back the thoroughly roused Mr. Bliss.
“Your dinner!” said the skipper, with an air of surprise; “why, I didn’t know you ’ad any.”
Private Bliss took his head away, and holding it very erect, took in his belt a little and walked slowly up and down the deck. Then he went to the water-cask and took a long drink, and an hour later a generous message was received from the skipper that he might have as many biscuits as he liked.
On this plain fare Private Bliss lived the whole of that day and the next, snatching a few hours’ troubled sleep on the locker at nights. His peace of mind was by no means increased by the information of Ted that Bystermouth was a garrison town, and feeling that in spite of any explanation he would be treated as a deserter, he resolved to desert in good earnest at the first opportunity that offered.
By the third day nobody took any notice of him, and his presence on board was almost forgotten, until Bob, going down to the forecastle, created a stir by asking somewhat excitedly what had become of him.
“He’s on deck, I s’pose,” said the cook, who was having a pipe.
“He’s not,” said Bob, solemnly.
“He’s not gone overboard, I s’pose?” said Bill, starting up.
Touched by this morbid suggestion they went up on deck and looked round; Private Bliss was nowhere to be seen, and Ted, who was steering, had heard no splash. He seemed to have disappeared by magic, and the cook, after a hurried search, ventured aft, and, descending to the cabin, mentioned his fears to the skipper.
“Nonsense!” said that gentleman, sharply, “I’ll lay I’ll find him.”