The old man sighed—and waited.
“I’m quite cleaned out, though,” continued the deserter, “except fi’pence ha’penny. I shall have to risk going home in my uniform as it is.”
“Ah, you’ll get there all right,” said Dan cheerfully; “and when you get home no doubt you’ve got friends, and if it seems to you as you’d like to give a little more to them as assisted you in the hour of need, you won’t be ungrateful, my lad, I know. You ain’t the sort.”
With these words old Dan, patting him affectionately, retired, and the soldier lay trying to sleep in his narrow quarters until he was aroused by a grip on his arm.
“If you want a mouthful of fresh air you’d better come on deck now,” said the voice of Joe; “it’s my watch. You can get all the sleep you want in the daytime.”
Glad to escape from such stuffy quarters, Private Smith clambered out of his bunk and followed the other on deck. It was a fine clear night, and the schooner was going along under a light breeze; the seaman took the wheel, and, turning to his companion, abruptly inquired what he meant by deserting and worrying them with six foot four of underdone lobster.
“It’s all through my girl,” said Private Smith meekly; “first she jilted me, and made me join the army; now she’s chucked the other fellow, and wrote to me to go back.”
“An’ now I s’pose the other chap’ll take your place in the army,” said Joe. “Why, a gal like that could fill a regiment, if she liked. Pah! They’ll nab you too, in that uniform, and you’ll get six months, and have to finish your time as well.”
“It’s more than likely,” said the soldier gloomily. “I’ve got to tramp to Manchester in these clothes, as far as I can see.”
“What did you give old Dan all your money for?” inquired Joe.