Jack at Sea | Page 8

I feel as if I want to improve mine."
"Let it alone, Ned," said the boy drearily.
"No, sir, I can't do that, when there's such a chance in one's way."
"Chance! What for?" said Jack, whose interest was awakened by the man's earnestness.
"That's what I'm telling you, sir, a chance to improve myself."
"How?"
"Well, you see, sir, I've got ears on my head."
"Of course you have."
"And can't help hearing, sir, a little of what's said."
"Look here, Ned," cried Jack, "I'm unwell; my head aches, and I'm very much worried. Tell me what it is that you want as briefly as you can."
"Well, sir, begging your pardon, sir, I couldn't help hearing that Sir John and you and the doctor's going abroad."
"Yes, Ned," said Jack moodily; "we're going abroad."
"Well, sir, I'd thank you kindly if you'd speak a word to master for me."
"What, about a character? There is no need, Ned; you will stay here till we come back--if ever we do," he added bitterly.
"Oh, you'll come back right enough, sir. But don't you see that's just what I don't want, unless I can come back too."
"What do you mean, Ned? Can't you see that you are worrying me dreadfully?"
"I am sorry, sir, for if there's a thing I can't abear, it's being talked to when I've got one o' them stinging 'eadaches. But I keep on explaining to you, sir. Don't you see? I want you to speak a word to Sir John about taking me with you."
"You!" cried Jack. "You want to go with us round the world?"
"Now, Master Jack," cried the man reproachfully, "would you like to spend all your days cleaning knives and boots and shoes, when it wasn't plate and waiting at table?"
"No, of course not; but you must be mad to want to do such a thing as go upon this dreadful journey."
"Dreadful journey! My word of honour, Master Jack, you talking like that!" cried the man. "You talking like that!" he repeated. "A young gent like you! Well, I'm about stunned. Do you know it would be about the greatest treat a body could have?"
"No, I don't," said Jack shortly. "It means nothing but misery and discomfort. A rough life amongst rough people; no chance to read and study. Oh, it would be dreadful."
"Well!" exclaimed the man; and again, "Well! You do cap me, sir, that you do. Can't you see it means change?"
"I don't want change," cried Jack petulantly.
"Oh, don't you say that, sir," cried Edward reproachfully; "because, begging your pardon, it ain't true."
"What! Are you going to begin on that silly notion too? I tell you I am not ill."
"No, sir, you're not ill certainly, because you don't have to take to your bed, and swaller physic, and be fed with a spoon, but every bit of you keeps on shouting that you ain't well."
"How? Why? Come now," cried the boy with more animation, as he snatched at the opportunity for gaining an independent opinion of his state. "But stop: has my father or Doctor Instow been saying anything to you?"
"To me, sir? Not likely."
"Then tell me what you mean."
"Well, sir; you're just like my magpie."
"What!" cried Jack angrily.
"I don't mean no harm, sir; you asked me."
"Well, there, go on," cried Jack pettishly.
"I only meant you were like him in some ways. You know, sir, I give one of the boys threppuns for him two years ago, when there was the nest at the top of the big ellum."
"Oh yes, I've seen the bird."
"I wasn't sure, sir, for you never did take much notice of that sort of thing. Why, some young gents is never happy unless they're keeping all kinds of pets--pigeons and rabbits and hedgehogs and such."
"I wish you wouldn't talk quite so much," cried Jack sharply.
"There, sir, that's what it is. You want stirring up. I like that. You haven't spoke to me so sharp since I don't know when."
"What, do you like me to scold you?"
"I'd like you to bully me, and chuck things at me too, sooner than see you sit moping all day as you do, sir. That's what made me say you put me in mind of my magpie. He sits on his perch all day long with his feathers, set up, and his tail all broken and dirty, and not a bit o' spirit in him. He takes the raw meat I cut up for him, but he doesn't eat half of it, only goes and pokes the bits into holes and corners, and looks as miserable and moulty as can be. It's because he's always shut up in a cage, doing just the same things every day, hopping from perch to perch that often--and back again over and over again, till he hasn't got a bit of spirit in him. I'm just the same--it's boots and