Such was the effect produced in so short a
time by the insidious discourse of this man. Had he still remained at
the steps, I do believe that I should have asked, probably have
followed, his advice. Fortunately he had left, and, after a little
reflection, I had the wisdom to go and seek Peter Anderson, and consult
him as to what I could do, for to change my mode of obtaining my
livelihood I was determined upon.

I found Anderson, as usual, seated under the colonnade, reading, and I
went up to him.

"Well, Jack, my boy, you are home early," said he.

"Yes," replied I gravely, and then I was silent.

After a pause of about a minute, Peter Anderson said, "Jack, I see
there's something the matter. Now, tell me what it is. Can I help
you?"

"I did wish to speak to you," replied I. "I've been thinking--about
going to sea."

"And how long have you thought of that, Jack?"

"I've thought more of it lately," replied I.

"Yes, since Spicer has been talking to you. Now, is that not the case?"

"Yes, it is."

"I knew that, Jack. I'm at your service for as long as you please; now
sit down and tell me all he has said to you that you can remember. I
sha'n't interrupt you."

I did so; and before I had half finished, Anderson replied, "That is
quite enough, Jack. One thing is evident to me--that Spicer has led a
bad and lawless life, and would even now continue it, old as he is, only
that he is prevented by being crippled. Jack, he has talked to you
about privateers! God forgive me if I wrong him; but I think, had he
said pirates, he would have told the truth. But say nothing about that
observation of mine; I wish from my heart that you had never known him.
But here comes your father. He has a right to know what we are talking
about, for you owe duty to him as his son, and nothing can be done
without his permission."

When my father came up to us, Anderson begged him to sit down, and he
told him what we had been discoursing about. I had already stated my
objections to enter on board of a man-of-war.

"Well," said my father, "I may come athwart hawse of that old piccaroon
yet, if he don't look out. Not that I mind your going to sea, Jack, as
your father did before you; but what he says about the sarvice is a
confounded lie. Let a man do his duty, and the sarvice is a good one;
and a man who is provided for as he is, ought to be ashamed of himself
to speak as he has done, the old rascal. Still, I do not c