'I've had a trip on a Clyde steamboat, sir, but no more,' replied
the unabashed Alick.
'Well, we must try and find some work for you,' concluded the
officer.
And hence we behold Alick, clear of the hot engine-room, lazily
scraping paint and now and then taking a pull upon a sheet. 'You
leave me alone,' was his deduction. 'When I get talking to a man,
I can get round him.'
The other stowaway, whom I will call the Devonian - it was
noticeable that neither of them told his name - had both been
brought up and seen the world in a much smaller way. His father, a
confectioner, died and was closely followed by his mother. His
sisters had taken, I think, to dressmaking. He himself had
returned from sea about a year ago and gone to live with his
brother, who kept the 'George Hotel' - 'it was not quite a real
hotel,' added the candid fellow - 'and had a hired man to mind the
horses.' At first the Devonian was very welcome; but as time went
on his brother not unnaturally grew cool towards him, and he began
to find himself one too many at the 'George Hotel.' 'I don't think
brothers care much for you,' he said, as a general reflection upon
life. Hurt at this change, nearly penniless, and too proud to ask
for more, he set off on foot and walked eighty miles to Weymouth,
living on the journey as he could.
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