"Tommy, I knows it," was the brief reply, and the telescope was shut up with a bang, as the seaman sat down on a little chest, and stared vacantly in the boy's face.

"Why did he do it?" asked Tommy.

"Dun' know. Who knows? S'pose he must ha' gone mad, though it don't seem likely. If it wasn't Guy as told me I'd not believe it."

"Does Guy not know why he's gone?"

"Apperiently he does, but he says he's bound not to tell. Hope Bax han't bin and done somethin' not 'xactly right--"

"_Bax_ do anything not exactly right!" cried Tommy, with a look and tone of amazed indignation.

"Right, lad, you're right," said Bluenose apologetically. "I've no doubt myself he could explain it all quite clear if he wos here for to do so. That's my opinion; and I've no doubt either that the first letter he sends home will make all straight an' snug, depend on it."

"Uncle," said Tommy, "_I_ am going to Australia."

Bluenose, who had just lighted his pipe, looked at the boy through the smoke, smiled, and said, "No, Tommy, you ain't."

"Uncle," repeated Tommy, "I am. I once heard Bax say he'd rather go there than anywhere else, if he was to go abroad; so I'm certain he has gone there, and I'm going to seek for him."

"Wery good, my lad," said the Captain coolly; "d'ye go by steamer to-night, or by rail to-morrow mornin'? P'raps you'd better go by telegraph; it's quicker, I'm told."

"You think I'm jokin', Uncle, but I'm not, as you'll very soon find out."

So saying, Tommy rose and left the hut. This was all he said on the subject. He was a strong-minded little fellow. He at once a.s.sumed the position of an independent man, and merely stated his intentions to one or two intimate friends, such as Bluenose, Laker, and old Jeph. As these regarded his statement as the wild fancy of an enthusiastic boy in the first gush of disappointment, they treated it with good-natured raillery. So Tommy resolved, as he would have himself have expressed it, "to shut up, and keep his own counsel."

When Guy told Lucy Burton that the man who had saved her life had gone off thus suddenly, she burst into tears; but her tears had not flowed long before she asked Guy the reason of his strange and abrupt departure.

Of course Guy could not tell. He had been pledged to secrecy as to the cause.

When Lucy Burton went to tell Amy Russell, she did so with a trembling heart. For some time past she had suspected that Amy loved Bax and not Guy, as she had at first mistakenly supposed. Knowing that if her suspicions were true, the news would be terrible indeed to her friend, she considerately went to her room and told her privately.

Amy turned deadly pale, stood speechless for a few seconds, and then fainted in her friend's arms.

On recovering she confessed her love, but made Lucy solemnly pledge herself to secrecy.

"No one shall ever know of this but yourself, dear Lucy," said Amy, laying her head on her friend's bosom, and finding relief in tears.

Time pa.s.sed away, as time is wont to do, and it seemed as if Tommy Bogey had forgotten to carry out his determination. From that day forward he never referred to it, and the few friends to whom he had mentioned it supposed that he had given up the idea altogether as impracticable.

They did not know the mettle that Tommy was made of. After maturely considering the matter, he had made up his mind to delay carrying out his plan until Bax should have time to write home and acquaint him with his whereabouts. Meanwhile, he would set himself to make and save up money by every means in his power, for he had sense enough to know that a moneyless traveller must be a helpless creature.

Peekins was permanently received into Sandhill Cottage as page-in-b.u.t.tons, in which capacity he presented a miserably attenuated figure, but gave great satisfaction. Tommy and he continued good friends; the former devoting as much of his leisure time to the latter as he could spare. He had not much to spare, however, for he had, among other things, set himself energetically to the study of arithmetic and navigation under the united guidance of old Jeph and Bluenose.

Lucy Burton paid a long visit to Mrs Foster, and roamed over the Sandhills day after day with her friend Amy, until her father, the missionary, came and claimed her and carried her back to Ramsgate.

During Lucy's stay, Guy Foster remained at the cottage, busily engaged in various ways, but especially in making himself agreeable to Lucy, in which effort he seemed to be very successful.

When the latter left, he suddenly discovered that he was wasting his time sadly, and told his mother that he meant to look out for something to do. With this end in view he set out for London, that mighty hive of industry and idleness into which there is a ceaseless flow of men who "want something to do," and of men who "don't know what to do."

And what of Denham, Crumps, and Company during this period?

The rats in and around Red Wharf Lane could have told you, had they been able to speak, that things prospered with that firm. These jovial creatures, that revelled so luxuriously in the slime and mud and miscellaneous abominations of that locality, could have told you that, every morning regularly, they were caught rioting in the lane and sent squealing out of it, by a boy in blue (the successor of poor Peekins) who opened the office and prepared it for the business of the day; that about half an hour later they, the rats, were again disturbed by the arrival of the head-clerk, closely followed by the juniors, who were almost as closely followed by Crumps--he being a timid old man who stood in awe of his senior partner; that, after this, they had a good long period of comparative quiet, during which they held a riotous game of hide-and-seek across the lane and down among sewers and dust holes, and delightfully noisome and fetid places of a similar character; interrupted at irregular intervals by a vagrant street boy, or a daring cat, or an inquisitive cur; that this game was stopped at about ten o'clock by the advent of Mr Denham, who generally gave them, the rats, a smile of recognition as he pa.s.sed to his office, concluding, no doubt, by a natural process of ratiocination, that they were kindred spirits, because they delighted in bad smells and filthy garbage, just as he (Denham) rejoiced in Thames air and filthy lucre.

One fine morning, speaking from a rat's point of view, when the air was so thick and heavy and moist that it was difficult to see more than a few yards in any direction, Denham came down the lane about half-an-hour later than usual, with a brisk step and an unusually smiling countenance.

Peekins' successor relieved him of his hat, topcoat, and umbrella, and one of the clerks brought him the letters. Before opening these he shouted--

"Mr Crumps!"

Crumps came meekly out of his cell, as if he had been a bad dog who knew he deserved, and expected, a whipping.

"Nothing wrong, I trust," he said anxiously.

"No; on the contrary, everything right," (Crumps' old face brightened), "I've succeeded in getting that ship at what I call a real bargain--500 less than I had antic.i.p.ated and was prepared to give." (Crumps rubbed his hands.) "Now, I mean to send this ship out to Australia, with a miscellaneous cargo, as soon as she can be got ready for sea. The gold fever is at its height just now, and it strikes me that, with a little judgment and prudence, a good thing may be made out there. At any rate, I mean to venture; for our speculations last year have, as you know, turned out well, with the exception of that unfortunate `Trident,' and we are sufficiently in funds just at this time to afford to run considerable risk."

Crumps expressed great satisfaction, and agreed with all that Denham said. He also asked what the name of the new ship was to be.

"The `Trident,'" said Mr Denham.

"What! the name of the ship we lost in Saint Margaret's Bay?" exclaimed Crumps, in surprise.

"I thought you knew the name of the ship we lost in Saint Margaret's Bay," said Denham sarcastically.

"Of course, of course," replied Crumps, in some confusion, "but I mean-- that is, don't you think it looks like flying in the face of Providence to give it the same name?"

"Mr Crumps," said Denham, with an air of dignified reproof, "it is most unnatural, most uncalled for, to talk of Providence in connexion with business. It is a word, sir, that may be appropriately used on Sundays and in churches, but not in offices, and I beg that you will not again allude to it. There is no such thing, sir, as Providence in business matters--at least such is my opinion; and I say this in order that you may understand that any remarks of that kind are quite thrown away on me. I am a plain practical man of business, Mr Crumps; once for all, allow me to say that, I object to the very unbusinesslike remarks of a theological nature which you are sometimes pleased to introduce into our conversations. I again repeat that there is no such thing as Providence in business,--at all events, not in _my_ business."

"I will not again offend you," said poor Crumps, who stood looking confused and moving his legs uneasily during the delivery of this oration, "but as you have condescended to argue the matter slightly, may I venture to hint that our ships are propelled chiefly by means of sails, and that the winds are in the hands of Providence."

"There, sir, I utterly disagree with you," retorted Denham, "the winds are guided in their courses by the fixed laws of Nature, and cannot be altered or modified by the wishes or powers of man; therefore, it is quite unnecessary, because useless, to regard them in matters of business. I am utterly devoid, sir, of superst.i.tion; and it is partly in order to make this clear to all with whom I have to do, that I intend to name our new ship the `Trident,' and to order her to sail on a Friday."

As Mr Denham accompanied his last word with an inclination of the head which was equivalent to a dismissal, Mr Crumps sighed and retired to his den. His practical and unsuperst.i.tious partner opened and read the letters.

While Denham was thus engaged a tap came to the door, and old Mr Summers entered the room.

"Ah! Summers, glad to see you, how are you?" said Denham, somewhat heartily--_for him_.

"Thank you, Denham, I'm well," replied the benign old gentleman with a smile, as he fixed a pair of gold spectacles on his nose, and sat down in a most businesslike way to examine a bundle of papers which he pulled out of his coat-pocket.

Mr Summers was a very old friend of Denham, and had been the friend of his father before him; but _that_ was not the reason of Denham's regard for him. The old gentleman happened to be a merchant in the city, with whom Denham, Crumps, and Company did extensive and advantageous business. This was the cause of Denham's unwonted urbanity. He cared little for the old man's friendship. In fact, he would have dispensed with it without much regret, for he was sometimes pressed to contribute to charities by his philanthropic friend.

"See, I have settled that matter for you satisfactorily," said Mr Summers; "there are the papers, which you can look over at your leisure."

"Thank you, Mr Summers," said Denham impressively, "this is _indeed_ very kind of you. But for your interference in this affair I am convinced that I should have lost a thousand pounds, if not more."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the old gentleman with a bright smile, "come, I'm glad to hear you say so, and it makes my second errand all the more easy."

"And what may your second errand be?" said Denham, with a sudden gravity of countenance, which showed that he more than suspected it.