Harry had the more time on his hands, as his traveling companion, the professor, took sick, and was confined for three or four weeks to his cabin. There was no danger, but still the ship’s surgeon advised him to stay below. “What makes you keep company with that boy, Mr. Vane?” asked Montgomery Clinton, who would have liked more of Harry’s society himself. “Why shouldn’t I?” “Because he is a common sailor, don’t you know.” “I think he is rather an uncommon sailor. He is very well educated.” “Oh, yes; I suppose he can read and write; but, of course, he can never be admitted into society, don’t you know?” “No, I don’t, Mr. Clinton. He may be a captain some day.” “But he isn’t now. I give you my word, I noticed this morning, when you were speaking with him, that his fingers were all soiled with tar. That’s horrid, don’t you know.” “Don’t you think he’s a good-looking boy, Mr. Clinton?” “Well, yes; I suppose, for one of the lower order, Mr. Vane.” “You forget we don’t have any distinction of classes in America.” “Don’t we though? By Jove! Mr. Vane, you don’t put yourself on a level with those creatures that dig ditches and climb masts, and such things?” “Your sentiments are very undemocratic, Mr. Clinton. You ought to have been born in England.” “I wish I had been. I like their institutions a good deal better than ours, don’t you know?” “When I first spoke with you, Mr. Clinton, I thought you might be an Englishman.” “Did you, really?” inquired Clinton, with evident pleasure. “I’m often taken for an Englishman, on my honor. I don’t know why it is, but positively, I’m often asked when I came from the other side.” “Would you rather be taken for an Englishman than an American?” “Well, you see, there are some Americans that are so vulgar, don’t you know--talk through their noses, and all that.” “Where were you born, Mr. Clinton?” “In Massachusetts, not far from Boston.” “By the way, Mr. Vane, are you descended from Sir Henry Vane, one of the royal governors of Massachusetts? I have been meaning to ask you.” “I can’t tell you, Mr. Clinton; but my name happens to be the same--Harry.” “Really, that is very interesting. I should think you would look up the matter.” “Perhaps I will when I return home!” said Harry, who cared very little about the matter. From this time, however, Clinton regarded him with increased respect, and manifested an increased liking for his society, from his supposed aristocratic lineage. Our hero treated him with good-natured toleration, but much preferred the company of Jack Pendleton, sailor as he was, though his fingers were not infrequently smeared with tar. Harry did not mind this; but was attracted by the frank, good-humored face of young Jack, and was always glad to have a chat with him. He had a chance, though at considerable personal risk, to do him a signal service before long.