I warmly thanked Tony for his gift as I patted True, who jumped up and licked my hand. “But you want a dog for yourself. I scarcely like to take him from you,” I said.
“Set your mind at rest; I have his brother—whom I left at our lodgings—his equal in most respects, if not quite so great a beauty,” he answered. “You will excuse me, I know. I have called my dog ‘Faithful,’ after you. As I cannot have you with me, I wanted something to remind me of you; and faithful I am sure he will prove to me, as yours will prove true to you.”
I thanked Tony for his kind feeling for me, and assured him that I considered it a compliment that he had called his dog after me.
True was indeed a beauty—a Welsh cocker—somewhat larger than usual perhaps. He came up in his moral qualities to all Tony had said about him. He took to me at once, and a true friend he ever proved. We accompanied our friends aboard their ship, which was a Portuguese, called the Vasco da Gama. She was a fine large vessel. The crew were small and swarthy, but active-looking fellows, most of them wearing long red caps on their heads, and blue or pink-striped shirts, with knives stuck in their girdles. They jabbered and shouted tremendously as they got under weigh. Tony and Houlston stood on the poop bidding us farewell. “We shall meet, Harry! we shall meet!” Tony cried out. “Good-bye, Harry; good-bye, Arthur; good-bye, old fellows!”
“Perhaps we shall overtake you on the voyage!” shouted John.
“Not much fear of that,” answered Houlston.
We were soon too far off to exchange further words, though we could hear the voices of the crew even when we had got to a considerable distance from the ship.