He was not disappointed, for a few minutes after, the bolts
were heard to withdraw and the heavy door swung back. There, true to
his charge, was little Tommy, in his nicest blue rig, tipped off a
la man-o'-war touch, with his palmetto-braid hat,--a long black
ribbon displayed over the rim,--his hair combed so slick, and his
little round face and red cheeks so plump and full of the sailor-boy
pertness, with his blue, braided shirt-collar laid over his jacket,
and set off around the neck, with a black India handkerchief,
secured at the throat with the joint of a shark's backbone. He
looked the very picture and pattern of a Simon-Pure salt. He had
wended his way through strange streets and lanes, with a big
haversack under his arm, which Daley had relieved him of at the
door, and brought into the room under his arm. As soon as Manuel
caught a glimpse of him, he rose and clasped the little fellow in
his arms with a fond embrace. No greeting could be more affecting.
Manuel exulted at seeing his little companion; but Tommy looked
grieved, and asked, "But what has scarred your face so, Manuel? You
didn't look that way when you left the brig. We have had a site o'
folks down to see us to-day."
"Oh, that's nothing!--just a little fall I got; don't tell the
Captain: it'll all be well to-morrow."
"Here, Jack, take your knapsack; did yer bring ever a drop o' liquor
for the steward?" said Daley, addressing himself to Tommy, and
putting the package upon the floor.
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