Part 48 (1/2)

”Why, they're real pistols.”

”Pistols! Yes--pop-guns. I mean big cannons.”

”Ah, well,” I said, ”I'm sorry you will not come, but I must go.”

”That's always the way when a fellow comes away from our old physic-shop and takes the trouble to walk all these miles. You're always either out or going out.”

”I can't help it, Bob,” I replied, feeling rather ill-used. ”My father expects me. I have to help him now. You know I like a game as well as ever I did.”

”Ah, well, it don't matter. Be off.”

”I'm very sorry,” I said, glancing at the old eight-day clock; ”but I must go now.”

”Well, didn't I say, Be off?” cried Bob.

”Good-bye, then!”

I offered him my hand, but he did not take it.

”If you'll walk round by the cliff I'll come part of the way with you,”

he said ill-humouredly.

”Will you?” I cried. ”Come along, then.”

I did not let him see it, but I had felt all the time that Master Bob meant to come. He had played that game so many times that I knew him by heart. I knew, too, that he was wonderfully fond of the sword practice, in which he had taken part whenever he could, and to get a shot with a pistol or a gun gave him the greatest pleasure.

”He won't come away till it's all over,” I said to myself; and we walked on round by the high track watching the s.h.i.+ps going up to Bristol, till all at once, as we rounded the corner leading into the Gap, Bob exclaimed:

”Why, there's old Jonas's boat coming in!”

”Where?” I said dubiously.

”Why, out there, stupid!” cried Bob, pointing north-west.

”What! That lugger?” I said. ”No, that's not his. He went out four days ago, and isn't expected back yet. That's more like the French lugger we rode in--Captain Gualtiere's.”

”Yah! Nonsense!”

”Well, but it is,” I said. ”That has three masts; it's a cha.s.se maree.

Jonas's boat has only two masts--a regular lugger.”

”You've got sand in your left eye and an old limpet-sh.e.l.l over the other,” grumbled Bob. ”French boat, indeed! Why, no French boat like that would dare to come near England now. I s'pose that's a French boat too!”

He pointed to another about a mile behind.

”No,” I said; ”that looks like a big yacht or a cutter. I shouldn't wonder if it's a revenue cutter.”

”Well, you are a clever chap,” said Bob mockingly--”setting up for a sailor, and don't know any more about it than an old cuckoo.”

”I know what our old Sam and my father and Binnacle Bill have taught me,” I said quietly.