school! Did you ever hear
of such a thing in your life? Is the young rascal humbugging us, do you
think?" said the commodore, turning to his friend.

"Not in the least, sir; he is perfectly sincere. I am sure of it, from
what I have seen of him myself. And look at him, sir! he is a boy of
talent; and if you wish to reward him, you could not do so in a more
effectual way than by giving him some education," said Mr. Middleton.

"But what could a boy of his humble lot do with an education if he had
it?" inquired the commodore.

"Ah! that I cannot tell, as it would depend greatly upon future
circumstances; but this we know, that the education he desires cannot do
him any harm, and may do him good."

"Yes! well, then, to school he shall go. Where shall I send him"
inquired the old sailor.

"Here; I would willingly take him."

"You! you're joking! Why, you have one of the most select schools in the
State."

"And this boy would soon be an honor to it! In a word, commodore, I
would offer to take him freely myself, but that I know the independent
spirit of the young fellow could not rest under such an obligation. You,
however, are his debtor to a larger amount than you can ever repay. From
you, therefore, even he cannot refuse to accept an education."

"But your patrons, my dear sir, may object to the association for their
sons," said the commodore, in a low voice.

"Do you object?"

"Not I indeed! I like the little fellow too well."

"Very well, then, if anyone else objects to their sons keeping company
with Ishmael Worth, they shall be at liberty to do so."

"Humph! but suppose they remove their sons from the school? what then,
eh?" demanded the commodore.

"They shall be free from any reproach from me. The liberty I claim for
myself I also allow others. I interfere with no man's freedom of action,
and suffer no man to interfere with mine," returned Middleton.

"Quite right! Then it is settled the boy attends the school. Where are
you, you young fire-bravo! you young thunderbolt of war! Come forward,
and let us have a word with you!" shouted the commodore.

Ishmael, who had again retreated behind the shelter of the professor's
stout form, now came forward, cap in hand, and stood blushing before the
old sailor.

"Well, you are to be 'cursed with a granted prayer,' you young Don
Quixote. You are to come here to school, and I am to foot the bills. You
are to come next Monday, which being the first of April an