ou, Tom!" rejoined father, still steadily tugging on at his
stroke oar as we pursued our course towards the middle of the stream, so
that we might take advantage of the last of the flood, and allow the
gradually slackening tide, which was nearly at the turn, to drift us
down alongside the old _Victory_, whither we were bound to pick up a
fare for the shore--"nothing in pertickler's up anyways uncommon that I
sees, sonny; and as for the buntin' that you're making sich a fuss
about, why, they've hauled all that down, and pretty near unbent all the
signal flags, too, and stowed 'em away in their lockers by this time!"

"But, father," I persisted, "they don't always go on like this for
nothing, I know!"

"In coorse they don't, stoopid!" said he, giving the water an angry
splash as he reached forwards, the blade of his oar sending up a tidy
sprinkle across my face. "Why, where's your wits, Tom, this mornin'?"

"Where you put them, father," I replied with a laugh; "you know I'm your
son, and mother says I'm `a chip of the old block' whenever she's a bit
put out with me."

"None o' your imporence, Tom," said he, laughing too; for he and I were
the best of friends, and I don't think we ever had a serious difference
about anything since first I was able to toddle down to the Hard, a
little mite of four or five, to see him put off in his wherry, and
sometimes go out for a sail with him on the sly when mother wasn't
watching us, up to the time, as now, when I could help him with an oar.
"None o' your imporence, you young jackanapes. But touching that there
signallin', I'm surprised, sonny, you don't know by this time that when
the commander-in-chief up at Admiralty House, in the dockyard, wishes
for to communicate to some ship out at Spithead, he telegraphs from his
office to the semaphore, which h'ists his orders, and then every ship in
port's bound to repeat the signal till the craft he means it for runs up
her answering pennant, for to show us how she's took the signal in and
underconstubled it."

"Oh yes, father, I know that," said I, leading him on purposely. "But
what is the signal they've been so busy about this morning? I can't
make it out at all."

Father snorted indignantly.

"Tom Bowling, junior, I'm right down ashamed on you for a son o' mine!"
he said, digging away at his oar savagely, as if trying to dredge up
some of the silt from the bottom of the harbour. "You, turned fifteen
year old, and been back'a