In any case, here they were, and,
midshipman-like, during their stay they had recklessly run up a larger
bill than they had means to settle. There was no possibility of
following the course recommended by the drunken sailor, namely, to "cut
and run," for the landlady of the inn was much too astute a personage to
make that a possibility, and she had too little faith in human nature
generally, and in that of midshipmen in particular, to let her consent
to wait for her money till time and the end of their cruise again
brought their frigate back to Portsmouth. Pay they _must_, by some means
or other, for already the Blue Peter was flying at the fore and the
_Sirius_ would sail at daylight. If she sailed without them it was very
plain that there was an end of their career in the Navy--they would be
"broke." Small wonder that the three middies were in the last stage of
gloom. Their entire possessions, money and clothes, could not cover one
half of what they owed, and every compromise had been rejected by the
obdurate landlady. Appeal to their friends was useless, for time did not
admit of an answer being received before the ship sailed. And escape was
hopeless, for the one window that the room possessed was heavily barred,
the door carefully locked, and the key kept in the capacious pocket of
the landlady.
Pages:
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260