"That is, father," said I innocently like--"the port-admiral gives that cruiser outside permission to go to sea?" "Aye, Tom," he answered, without suspecting what my inquiry was leading up to--"that's just it. You've reckoned it up to a nicety, my hearty." Now came the opportunity for which I had been waiting. "The old port-admiral may be a martinet, as they say, in the dockyard," I said; "but he's a kinder chap than you are, father." "The admiral kinder than me, sonny," he repeated, in a surprised tone--"why, how's that, Tom?" "Because he gives leave when he's asked for a fellow to go to sea." We were just then about midway between the _Saint Vincent_ and the old _Victory_; and, startled by my thus unexpectedly broaching my masked battery, father dropped his oar and let the wherry drift along the almost motionless tideway towards the stern of Nelson's whilom flagship, which was slowly swinging round nearer us on the bosom of the stream, thus showing that the ebb was setting in, or, rather, out. "You owdacious young monkey!" he cried, slewing his head round on his shoulders, even as the old _Victory's_ hull slewed with the tide, so that he could look me full in the face. "So, my joker, that's the little rig you're a-tryin' to try on with me, Master Tommy, is it?" "It ain't no rig, father," said I sturdily, sticking to my guns, now that the cat was out of the bag. "I can't see why you won't let me go to sea. I'm sure I've asked you often enough." "Aye; and I'm sure I've had to refuse you jest as often." "Why, father?" "For your own good, sonny." "I can't see it, father," I rejoined. "Look at them _Saint Vincent_ boys in that cutter a-crossing our bows now. How jolly they all seems working at their proper calling, just as I'd like to be!" "Aye, mebbe," said father, in his sententious way, cocking his eye as the cutter sped on its way towards the training-ship. "But jest you look at me, Tom, and see what forty years' sailorin', man and boy, have done for one o' the same kidney as them boys, jolly though they seems now. Poor young beggars, they all has their troubles afore 'em!" "Most of us have our troubles, father," I replied to this bit of moral philosophy of his, speaking just in his own manner. "So our old parson said on Sunday last, when mother and Jenny and I went to church. We are all bound to have them, he said, whether on sea or on land; and I can't say as how a sailor has the worst chance." "Ship my rullocks, Tom, can't ye? Jest you look at me!" "Why, father?" I asked. "What's the use of that?" "None o' your imporence, Master Tommy; jest you look at me!" "All right, father," said I. "I am a-looking at you now!" "Very good, Tom--one dog one bone! Well, what d'ye see?"