Читать книгу Midshipman Merrill онлайн

41 страница из 50

Realizing this, all the guests had gone into the large and brilliantly lighted cabin, and thither General Peyton had followed with the young pilot.

The youth had urged against it, saying that he was wet, barefooted, and hardly more than half-dressed, but General Peyton had said:

“The Secretary of the Navy wishes to see you.”

Standing in his wet clothing before that august group gathered there, Mark Merrill was modest of mien, yet not abashed.

“You wished to see me, sir?” he said, bowing to the Secretary.

“Yes, my lad, sit down.”

“Ah, sir, I am not fit to be here, looking as I do; and I am anxious to return home, as my mother will be expecting me.”

“You live near here, then?”

“Yes, sir, upon the cliff.”

“And you have a mother living?”

“Yes, sir, she is all I have, except old Peggy, for my father was lost at sea.”

“And what is your calling, my lad?”

“I fish for the market boats, and then I carry the mail once each week along the coast.”

“In a boat, of course?”

“Yes, sir, in my surf-skiff.”