Syd Belton Part 39

"Weak? not you, sir. Feels a bit down, but you'll soon forget that. I wouldn't try to bring it on again, sir," said Barney, watching his young master all the while.

"Bring it on? No," cried Sydney. "I tell you I hate fighting. I don't like being hurt."

"Course not, sir."

"And I don't like hurting any one."

"Well, sir, strikes me that's foolish, 'cause there's no harm in hurtin'

a thing like him. Do him good, I say. You see, Master Syd, there's young gents as grows into good skippers, and there's young gents as grows into tyrants, and worries the men till they mutinies, and there's hangings and court-martials--leastwise, court-martials comes first.

Now, Mr Terry, sir, unless he's tamed down and taught better, 's one o'

the sort as makes bad skippers, and the more he's licked the better he'll be."

"I shall never like him," said Syd, whose spoon was sc.r.a.ping the bottom of the basin now.

"No, sir; I s'pose not," said Barney, with a dry grin beginning to spread over his countenance. "n.o.body could; but I dare say his mother thinks he's a werry nyste boy, and kisses and cuddles him, and calls him dear."

"Yes, I suppose so, Barney."

"And a pretty dear too; eh, Master Syd?"

"Yes, Barney. What are you laughing at?"

"You, sir," cried the bos'un. "Hooray! he's took it all, and said he couldn't touch a drop."

"Well, I thought I couldn't, Barney; but Mr Terry roused me up, and I feel better now."

"Nay, sir; play fair."

"What do you mean?"

"Give a man his doo. It was me roused you up."

"So it was, Barney. I'm a deal better."

"You're quite well, says Doctor Barney Strake, and that's me. Say, Master Syd, what do they call that they gives a doctor wrorped up in paper?"

"His fee."

"Then, sir, that's just what you owes me, who says to you now--just you go on deck and breathe the fresh wind, for this here place would a'most stuffocate a goose."

"Yes, I'll try and get on deck now," said Syd.

"And try means do. Hooray, sir, I'm going to tell the captain as you're quite well, thankye, now, Amen."

"Not quite well, Barney."

"Ay, but you are, sir. But I say, Master Syd."

"What?"

"You never said your grace."

CHAPTER TWENTY.

The cure was complete, and two days later Syd had almost forgotten that he had been ill. The weather was glorious, and as they sailed on south and west before a favouring breeze, life at sea began to have its charms.

Every day the ocean seemed to grow more blue; and pretty often there was something fresh to look at, fish, or bird wandering far from land.

But theirs was to be no pleasure trip, as Syd soon realised upon seeing the many preparations that were being made for war.

In his old days of command, Captain Harry Belton's was considered the smartest manned s.h.i.+p in the squadron in which he served, and it was his ambition now to make up for the many deficiencies he discovered on board the frigate. Consequently gun and small-arm drill was almost as frequent as the practice of making and shortening sail. The crew grumbled and grew weary, but all the same they felt an increasing respect for the officer who was determined to have everything done in the best way possible, and when the captain did say a few words of praise for some smart bit of seamans.h.i.+p, the men felt that it was praise worth having.

It seemed rather hard to Syd at times that his father should be so cold and distant. Roylance, who had become great friends with the new middy, noticed it too.

"Were you bad friends at home?" he said to Syd, one day, as they were leaning over the taffrail gazing down at the clear blue sea.

"Oh no, the best of friends; and I always dined with him and Uncle Tom when he was there, and sat with them at dessert."

"Oh, I say, don't talk about it," said Roylance; "late dinners and dessert. Different to our rough berth, eh?"

"Ye-es," said Syd: "but one gets to like this more now."

"Does seem strange though about the captain."

"Takes more notice of the others than he does of me."

"I don't know about more," said Roylance. "Treats us all the same, I think. Well, when you come to think of it, you are one of us, and it wouldn't be fair if he favoured you."

"No."

"Suppose it was promotion? No, you mustn't grumble.--I say."

"Yes."

"I wouldn't trust old Terry too much, Syd."

"Why not? He's friendly enough now; and we don't want to fight again."

"No; but he's too civil to you now, and always looks to me as if he would do you an ill turn if he could."

Syd laughed.

"Ah, you may grin; but you wouldn't laugh if you found he'd just given you a push and sent you overboard some dark night."

"Nonsense!"

"I hope it is, but don't you trust him. I've known Mike Terry three years, and I've always found that he never forgave anybody who got the better of him."