“What I wanted to see you about, Peter,” said the owner, “is my oldest boy Alick. He’s tired of school and wants to go to sea.”

“Does he, does he? Poor fellow!” said Para Handy. “Och, he’s but young yet, he’ll maybe get better. Hoo’s the mustress keepin’?”

“She’s very well, thank you, Peter,” said the owner. “But I’m anxious about that boy of mine. I feel sure that he’ll run away some day on a ship; he’s just the very sort to do it and I want you to help me.

“I’m going to send him one trip with you, and I want you to see that he’s put off the notion of being a sailor – you understand? I don’t care what you do to him so long as you don’t break a leg on him, or let him fall over the side. Give him it stiff.”

“Chust that!” said the captain.“iss he a boy that reads novelles?”

“Fair daft for them!” said the owner. “That’s the cause of the whole thing.”

“Then I think I can cure him in wan trip, and it’ll no’ hurt him either.”

“I’ll send him down to the Vital Spark on Wednesday, just before you start,” said the owner. “And, by the way, if you manage to sicken him of the idea I wouldn’t say but there might be a small increase in your wages.”

“Och, there”s no occasion for that,” said Para Handy.

On the Wednesday a boy about 12 years of age, with an Eton suit and a Saturday-toMonday hand-bag, came down to the wharf in a cab alone, opened the door of the cab hurriedly, and almost fell into the arms of

Para Handy, who was on shore to meet him.

“Are you the apprentice for the Fital Spark?” asked the captain affably. “Your name’ll be Alick?”

“Yes,” said the boy. “Are you the captain?” “That’s me,” said the captain. “Gie me a haad o’ your portmanta,” and taking it out of Alick’s hand he led the way to the side of the wharf, where the Vital Spark was lying, with a cargo of coals that left her very little freeboard, and all her crew on deck awaiting developments.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “we havena any gangway, but I’ll hand you doon to Dougie, and you’ll be aal right if your gallowses’ll no’ give way.”

“What! Is that the boat I’m to go on?” cried the boy, astounded.

“Yes,” said the captain, with a little natural irritation. “And what’s wrong with her? The smertest boat in the tred. Stop you till you see her goin’ roond Ardlamont!”