Syd Belton

"No, no, my boy," cried his uncle, cheerily; "only your father and I came down to get you a bit of supper, and then they boarded us in the dark."

"Yes, yes, that was it, Syd," said the captain. "Here, put that plate on a tray, Broughton, and take it into the library. I'm very sorry this has happened."

"All a mistake, sir, I'm sure," said the butler, taking the plate with the hacked and torn-off portions of pheasant.

"Yes; don't say any more about it. Come, brother Tom; come, Sydney."

He led the way, but the jolly old admiral could not follow for laughing.

He leaned up against the larder shelf, and stood wiping his eyes; and every time he got over one paroxysm he began again. But at last he beckoned to Barney.

"Here, give me your arm, bo'sun," he said, "and help me into the library; I feel as if everything were going by the board. Oh, dear me!

oh, dear me! Wait till I've b.u.t.toned this waistcoat. Well, it's a lesson. Done for you, Syd, if you had been going to sea. Never attack without proper signals to know who are enemies and who are not."

The supper was soon spread in the library, and Sydney was ravenous for a few mouthfuls, but after that he pushed his plate away, and could eat no more.

"What!" cried his uncle; "done? Nonsense! I can peck a bit now myself; and, Harry, my boy, I must have a gla.s.s of grog after this."

The result was that Syd did eat a decent supper, and an hour later, when all was still, he sat thinking for a time about the coming morning.

Perhaps more than that of the fact that neither his father nor his uncle had shaken hands when they parted for the night.

Then came sleep--sweet, restful sleep--and he was dreaming vividly for a time of a desperate fight with the French, in which he boarded a larder, and captured a butler, footman, and a gardener. After that all was dense, dreamless sleep, till he started up in bed, for there was a knocking at his door.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

"May I come in, sir?"

"Yes; come in, Broughton," said Syd, recognising the voice, and the butler entered with one hand bound up.

"That, sir? Oh, nothing, sir. Only got it in the scrimmage last night.

So glad to see you back again, Master Syd."

"Oh, don't talk about it, Broughton," groaned the boy. "My father down?"

"No, sir; but he's getting up, and your uncle too. I was to come and tell you to make haste."

"Yes, I'll make haste," said Syd; and as soon as he was alone he began to dress hurriedly, with every thought of the blackest hue, and a sensation of misery and depression a.s.sailing him that was horrible.

He quite started as he went to the gla.s.s to brush his hair, for his face was white and drawn as if he had been ill. But there was very little more time

Syd thought of that latter, for he knew but too well the servants might think it was brave--almost heroic and daring--to run away; to come back seemed very weak and small.

In those few moments Syd wished that ten years would glide away, and all the trouble belong to the past.

His father was in a chair by the window ready to look up sharply, and then let his eye fall upon the book he was reading without uttering a word.

Broughton came in bearing a tray with the coffee and a covered dish or two ready to place upon the table, then he left, and Syd was alone again with his father.

"What will he say?" thought the culprit; but he could not decide in which form his verbal castigation would come.

As he sat glancing at his father from time to time, Syd noted that there was a scratch upon his forehead, and that a bit of sticking-plaster was on one of his knuckles, proofs these of the severity of the past night's struggle.

Then came a weary waiting interval before there was a deep-toned cough outside the door.

"Hah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the captain, rising from his seat as the door opened, and the old admiral stumped into the room.

"Morning, Harry," he said; "morning, Syd."

He closed the door behind him and came forward, and then, odd as it may sound in connection with one who was weak, unwell, and suffering from so much mental trouble, Sydney burst into a hearty fit of laughter. He tried to check it; he knew that under the circ.u.mstances it was in the worst of taste; he felt that he would excite his father's anger, and that then he would be furious; but he laughed all the same, and the more he tried the more violent and lasting the fits grew.

"Sydney!" cried his father, and then there was a pause followed by a hearty "Ha, ha, ha!" as the captain joined in, and the admiral gently patted his own face first on one side and then on the other.

"Yes," he said, quietly; "you may well laugh. I look a nice guy, don't I?"

"Oh, uncle! I beg your pardon--but--oh, oh, oh, I can't stop laughing,"

cried Sydney.

"Well, get it done, boy," said the old gentleman, "for I want my breakfast. Oh, here is Broughton."

The butler entered with a rack of hot dry toast, and as he advanced to the table the admiral exclaimed--

"Now, sir, look here; you've made a nice mess of my phiz. What have you got to say to this?"

The butler raised his eyes as he set down the toast, gazed full in the old gentleman's face, his own seemed frozen solid for a moment, and then, clapping the napkin he carried to his mouth to smother his laughter, he turned and fled.

"And that son of a sea-cook begged my pardon last night, and said he was sorry. Yes, I am a sight. Look at my eyes, Harry, swollen up and black. There's a nose for you; and one lip cut. Why, I never got it so bad in action. And all your fault, Syd. There, I forgive you, boy."

"Well, it's impossible to give this boy a serious lecture now, Tom,"

said the captain, wiping his eyes, as he pa.s.sed the coffee.

"Of course. Who wants serious lectures?" said the admiral, testily.

"The boy did wrong, and he came back and said he was sorry for it.

You've told me scores of times that you never flogged a man who was really sorry for getting into a sc.r.a.pe. Give me some of that ham, Syd, and go on eating yourself. I say, rum old punch I look, don't I?"

Syd made no reply, but filled his uncle's plate, and the breakfast went on nearly to the end before the topic dreaded was introduced.

"Well, Sydney," said his father, rather sadly, "so I suppose I must let you be a doctor?"

"Wish he was one now," cried the admiral. "I'd make him try to make me fit to be seen. Humph! doctor, eh? No; I don't think I shall try to be ill to give you a job, Syd; but I'm very glad, my boy, that you did not take that money."

Sydney bent over his coffee, and his father went on--

"It's like letting you win a victory, sir, but I suppose I must give in.

I don't like it though."

"Humph! more do I," said Sir Thomas. "I'll forgive you though if you train up for a naval surgeon. Do you hear, sir?"

"Yes, uncle, I hear," said Sydney.