The next day Comethup entered into possession of all his new dignities: interviewed the manager at his aunt's bank, and was solemnly congratulated by that gentleman; cashed his first cheque, and felt somehow that the coins were different from any that had jingled in his pockets before. It was good, too, to feel that perfect new sense of freedom which the mere turn of a day had given him; to breathe that larger air of manhood which he felt was his to have and to hold. There was quite a large dinner party that evening, for it was necessary, in his aunt's opinion, that he should be shown, now that he had reached manhood's estate, just as he had been shown when he first came into her life.
A few days after, he timidly informed his aunt one morning that he should like to visit the captain. "You know it's years since I have seen him, and I----"
"My dear boy," said his aunt, "you're breaking through our compact. Didn't I tell you you were to go where you liked, and when you liked, and do what you liked? Go and see the captain, by all means. But I think I'd write to him first; the sight of you--giant that you are--would be too great a shock to him if you swept down on him unexpectedly. Write to-day and go to-morrow; never hesitate about these matters."
Comethup, in his impatience, sent a telegram instead, and started off early the next morning, feeling more than ever the sense of that glorious freedom which had come into his life. He had merely informed the captain that he should arrive in the morning, and had not mentioned the train. Finding, when half his journey was completed, that he would have to wait some considerable time at an out-of-the-way station before catching a train which would take him to his native place, he went on, as he had done before, to Deal, and there ordered a carriage and went the rest of the way by road.
It was a delightful feeling to lounge back in the carriage, on a perfect summer day, with all the country spread in its glory about him, and to know that this life--so rich and full and splendid, so surrounded with every luxury and care and forethought--was to go on and on, through all the years, with no pain or sorrow, with nothing left to hope for beyond what he had secured. His wanderings abroad had already taught him the width and wonder of the world, the pleasant places that were in it, the happy people who laugh along its sunlit ways. Altogether it was a bright and healthy and hopeful prospect that stretched before him, and it was a bright and healthy and hopeful youngster who looked upon the prospect.