“Wapping,” said Henry; “but I know Northfleet very well—Gravesend too. Ever been there?”
“Never,” said the old man emphatically; “never.”
“Rather a nice place, I think,” said Henry; “I like it better than Wapping. We’ve sailed from there a year now. Our skipper is fond of it too. He’s rather sweet on a girl who’s teacher in a school there.”
“What school?” asked the old man.
The boy gave a slight laugh. “Well, it’s no good telling you if you don’t know the place,” he said easily; “it’s a girls’ school.”
“I used to know a man that lived there,” said the other, speaking slowly and carefully. “What’s her name?”
“I forget,” said the boy, yawning.
Conversation flagged, and the two sat idly watching the last of the children as they toiled slowly towards home from the sands. The sun had set and the air was getting chilly.
“I’ll be getting home,” said the old man. “Goodnight, my lad.”
“Good-night to you,” said the well-mannered Henry.