Ishmael hesitated, looked down and blushed.

“Would you like to go to sea and be a sailor, eh?”

“No, sir, thank you.”

“Like to go for a soldier, eh?  You might be a drummerboy, you know.”

“No, thank you, sir.”

“Neither sailor nor soldier; that’s queer, too!  I thought all lads longed to be one or the other!  Why don’t you, eh?”

“I would not like to leave my Aunt Hannah, sir; she has no one but me.”

“What the deuce would you like, then?” testily demanded the old sailor.

“If you please, sir, nothing; do not trouble yourself.”

“But you saved the life of my boys, you proud little rascal and do you suppose I am going to let that pass unrepaid?”

“Sir, I am glad the young gentlemen are safe; that is enough for me.”

“But I’ll be shot if it is enough for me!”

“Commodore Burghe, sir, will you allow me to suggest something?” said the professor, coming forward, hat in hand.

“And who the deuce are you?  Oh, I see! the artist-in-general to the country side!  Well, what do you suggest?” laughed the old man.

“If I might be so bold, sir, it would be to send young Ishmael to school.”

“Send him to school!  Ha, ha, ha! ho, ho, ho! why, he’d like that least of anything else! why, he’d consider that the most ungrateful of all returns to make for his services!  Boys are sent to school for punishment, not for reward!” laughed the commodore.

“Young Ishmael wouldn’t think it a punishment, sir,” mildly suggested the professor.

“I tell you he wouldn’t go, my friend! punishment or no punishment!  Why, I can scarcely make my own fellows go!  Bosh!  I know boys; school is their bugbear.”

“But, under correction, sir, permit me to say I don’t think you know young Ishmael.”

“I know he is a boy; that is enough!”

“But, sir, he is rather an uncommon boy.”

“In that case he has an uncommon aversion to school.”

“Sir, put it to him, whether he would like to go to school.”

“What’s the use, when I know he’d rather be hung?”

“But, pray, give him the choice, sir,” respectfully persisted the professor.

“What a solemn, impertinent jackanapes you are, to be sure, Morris!  But I will ‘put it to him,’ as you call it!  Here, you young fire-eater, come here to me.”

The boy, who had modestly withdrawn into the background, now came forward.

“Stand up before me; hold up your Head; look me in the face!  Now, then, answer me truly, and don’t be afraid.  Would you like to go to school, eh?”

Ishmael did not speak, but the moonlight radiance of his pale beaming face answered for him.

“Have you no tongue, eh?” bluffly demanded the old sailor.

“If you please, sir, I should like to go to school more than anything in the world, if I was rich enough to pay for it.”