Martin Rattler | Page 7

closed. The intended blow was changed
into a friendly grasp; and, exerting himself to the utmost, Martin
dragged his insensible school-fellow to the bank, where, in a few
minutes, he recovered sufficiently to declare in a sulky tone that he
would fight no more!
"Bob Croaker," said Martin, holding out his hand, "I'm sorry we've had
to fight. I wouldn't have done it, but to save my kitten. You compelled
me to do it, you know that. Come, let's be friends again."
Bob made no reply, but slowly and with some difficulty put on his vest
and jacket.
"I'm sure," continued Martin, "there's no reason in bearing me ill-will.
I've done nothing unfair, and I'm very sorry we've had to fight. Won't
you shake hands?"
Bob was silent.
"Come, come, Bob!" cried several of the bigger boys, "don't be sulky,
man; shake hands and be friends. Martin has licked you this time, and
you'll lick him next time, no doubt, and that's all about it."
"Arrah, then, ye're out there, intirely. Bob Croaker'll niver lick Martin
Rattler though he wos to live to the age of the great M'Thuselah!'" said
a deep-toned voice close to the spot where the fight had taken place.
All eyes were instantly turned in the direction whence it proceeded, and
the boys now became aware, for the first time, that the combat had been
witnessed by a sailor, who, with a smile of approval beaming on his
good-humoured countenance, sat under the shade of a neighbouring
tree smoking a pipe of that excessive shortness and blackness that
seems to be peculiarly beloved by Irishmen in the humbler ranks of life.
The man was very tall and broad-shouldered, and carried himself with a
free-and-easy swagger, as he rose and approached the group of boys.
"He'll niver bate ye, Martin, avic, as long as there's two timbers of ye
houldin' togither."

The seaman patted Martin on the head as he spoke; and, turning to Bob
Croaker, continued: "Ye ought to be proud, ye spalpeen, o' bein'
wopped by sich a young hero as this. Come here and shake hands with
him: d'ye hear? Troth an' it's besmearin' ye with too much honour that
same. There, that'll do. Don't say ye're sorry now, for it's lies ye'd be
tellin' if ye did. Come along, Martin, an' I'll convarse with ye as ye go
home. Ye'll be a man yet, as sure as my name is Barney O'Flannagan."
Martin took the white kitten in his arms and thrust its wet little body
into his equally wet bosom, where the warmth began soon to exercise a
soothing influence on the kitten's depressed spirits, so that, ere long, it
began to purr. He then walked with the sailor towards the village, with
his face black and blue, and swelled and covered with blood, while Bob
Croaker and his companions returned to the school.
The distance to Martin's residence was not great, but it was sufficient to
enable the voluble Irishman to recount a series of the most wonderful
adventures and stories of foreign lands, that set Martin's heart on fire
with desire to go to sea,--a desire which was by no means new to him,
and which recurred violently every time he paid a visit to the small
sea-port of Bilton, which lay about five miles to the southward of his
native village. Moreover, Barney suggested that it was time Martin
should be doing for himself (he was now ten years old), and said that if
he would join his ship, he could get him a berth, for he was much in
want of an active lad to help him with the coppers. But Martin Rattler
sighed deeply, and said that, although his heart was set upon going to
sea, he did not see how it was to be managed, for his aunt would not let
him go.
Before they separated, however, it was arranged that Martin should pay
the sailor's ship a visit, when he would hear a good deal more about
foreign lands; and that, in the meantime, he should make another
attempt to induce Aunt Dorothy Grumbit to give her consent to his
going to sea.
CHAPTER IV

A LESSON TO ALL STOCKING-KNITTERS--MARTIN'S
PROSPECTS BEGIN TO OPEN UP
In the small sea-port of Bilton, before mentioned, there dwelt an old
and wealthy merchant and ship-owner, who devoted a small portion of
his time to business, and a very large portion of it to what is usually
termed "doing good," This old gentleman was short, and stout, and rosy,
and bald, and active, and sharp as a needle.
In the short time that Mr. Arthur Jollyboy devoted to business, he
accomplished as much as most men do in the course of a long day.
There was not a benevolent society in