Syd Belton Part 21

"Then why don't you speak?"

"I was thinking of what you said, uncle."

"Humph! Well, I hope you'll take it to heart."

"Yes," said his father; "you may as well be a surgeon."

"That's what I should have liked to be," said Sydney, "if I had been a doctor."

"Well, you're going to be, sir. Your uncle and I have talked it over, and you shall study for it, and begin as soon as you're old enough."

Sydney sat still, gazing at his plate; but he raised his eyes at last, and looked firmly at his father, who was watching him keenly.

"Thank you, father," he said.

"No, sir, don't thank me; thank your indulgent uncle."

"No, don't, boy, because I give way most unwillingly; and I'm confoundedly sorry you should want to be such a physic-mixing swab."

"You needn't be sorry, uncle," said Sydney, quietly; "and I'm very grateful to you, father, but I shall not be one now."

"Not be a doctor!" said the captain, sharply. "Then pray, sir, what do you mean to be?"

"A sailor, father."

"What?" cried the brothers in chorus.

"And I want to go to sea at once."

"You do, Syd?"

"Yes, father. I saw it all when I'd gone away, and I came back for that."

"Hurrah!" cried the admiral, starting from his seat, and dropping back with a groan of pain. "Bless my heart!" he cried, "how sore I am! But hurrah! all the same. You'll be a middy, my boy."

"Yes, uncle. I want to be at once."

"And you'll try to make yourself a good officer, my boy?" cried his father, leaning over the table to catch his son's hand.

"Yes, father, as hard as ever I can."

"T'other hand, Syd, lad," cried the admiral; and he grasped it firmly.

"Try, Harry?--he won't need to try. He's a Belton every inch of him, and he'll make a ten times better officer than ever we did. Here, where's the port? Who's going to drink success to the boy in coffee?

Bah, what does the liquor matter! We'll drink it in our hearts, boy.

Here's to Admiral Belton--my dear boy--our dear boy, Harry, eh?"

"G.o.d bless you, my lad!" cried Captain Belton. "You've made me feel more proud of you and happy than I have felt for years."

"Here, hi!" roared the admiral; "where's that lubber Strake? I want some one to help me cheer. Sydney, boy, G.o.d bless you! I _am_ glad you ran away."

"Then you forgive me, father?"

"Hold your tongue, sir," cried Captain Belton, laying his hand on his son's shoulder. "There are things that we all like to forget as soon as we can--this is one of them. Let's blot it out."

"But I want to ask a favour, father."

"Granted, my boy, before you ask."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

Sydney Belton, as he felt the pressure of his father's hand, could not speak for a few minutes, and when he did find utterance, he seemed to have caught a fresh cold, for his voice sounded husky.

"I want as a favour, father--" he began, in a faltering voice.

"Here, it's all right, Syd, my boy," said his uncle; "don't bother your father for money. Now then, how much do you want?"

"I don't want money, uncle."

"Eh? Don't want money, sir? Wait a bit then till you get among your messmates, and you'll want plenty."

"I want to beg Panama off from being punished."

"Ah, to be sure. I'd forgotten him," cried Captain Belton; and he went to the fireplace and rang the bell.

The butler answered, looking very serious and apologetic now as he glanced at Sir Thomas. But the old gentleman only shook his fist at him good-humouredly as his brother spoke.

"Send John down to the cottage, to tell Strake to come up directly with his son."

"Look here," said Sir Thomas, chuckling, "don't you two look like that.

Pull serious faces, and let's scare the young dog. Do him good."

By the time the breakfast was ended steps were heard in the hall, and the butler came in to announce that the gardener was waiting with his boy.

"Send them in," said Captain Belton, austerely.

The butler retired; Sir Thomas gave his brother and nephew several nods and winks, and then sat up looking most profoundly angry as the door was again opened and a low growling arose from the hall. Then a few whimpering protests, more growling, with a few words audible: "Swab"--"lubber"--"hold up!"--and then there was a scuffle, another growl, and Panama, looking white and scared, seemed to be suddenly propelled into the room as if from a mortar, the mortar making its appearance directly after in the shape of Barney, who pulled his forelock and kicked out a leg behind to each of the old officers before pointing to Pan and growling out--

"Young desarter--wouldn't come o' deck, your honours, and--"

Barney's remarks had been addressed to his master, but he now turned round toward Sir Thomas, and seemed for the first time to realise the old admiral's condition, when his jaw dropped, he stared, and then began to scratch his head vigorously.

"My!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed; "your honour did get it last night."

"Get it, you rascal--yes," cried Sir Thomas; "you nearly killed me amongst you."

"And, your honour," said Barney, hoa.r.s.ely, as he turned to his master, "I hadn't no idee it was you. I thought it was--"