"I hope you won't feel homesick," remarked Bart, sympathetically.

"Homesick," repeated the captain. "Wal, you see thar's a good deal
to be said about it. In my hum thar's a attraction, but thar's
also a repulsion. The infant drors me hum, the wife of my buzzum
drives me away, an so thar it is, an I've got to knock under to the
strongest power. An that's the identical individool thing that
makes the aged Corbet a foogitive an a vagabond on the face of the
mighty deep. Still I have my consolations."

The captain paused for a few moments, and then resumed.

"Yes," he continued, "I have my consolations. Surroundins like
these here air a consolation. I like your young faces, an gay an
airy ways, boys. I like to see you enjoy life. So, go in. Pitch
in. Go ahead. Sing. Shout. Go on like mad. Carry on like all
possessed, an you'll find the aged Corbet smilin amid the din, an a
flutterin of his venerable locks triumphant amid the ragin an
riotin elements."

"It's a comfort to know that, at any rate," said Tom. "We'll give
you enough of that before we leave, especially as we know it don't
annoy you."

"I don't know how it is," said the captain, solemnly, "but I begin
to feel a sort of somethin towards you youngsters that's very
absorbin. It's a kine o' anxious fondness, with a mixtoor of
indulgent tenderness. How ever I got to contract sech a feelin
beats me. I s'pose it's bein deprived of my babby, an exiled from