Syd Belton

"No, Tom, I'll tell him," said Captain Belton. "Look here, Syd, my boy, at your time of life lads do not know what is best for them, so it is the duty of their fathers to decide."

"Is it, father?"

"Of course it is, sir," growled the admiral, and Doctor Liss wrinkled up his forehead and looked attentively on.

"Now look here, sir. Your uncle has just heard an old friend of his, Captain Dashleigh--"

"Known him from a boy," said the admiral.

"Has been appointed to the _Juno_, one of our finest three-deckers, and he is going to ask him to take you as one of his mids.h.i.+pmen."

"Uncle Tom always said that a boy should commence life either in a sloop of war or a smart frigate," said Syd, sharply.

"If there's one handy," growled the admiral. "_Juno's_ a s.h.i.+p to be proud of."

"So, thank your uncle for his promise to exert his interest, and let's have no more nonsense."

"But I want to be a doctor, father," said Syd, looking hard at the visitor.

_Crash_!

The gla.s.ses danced as the admiral brought his hand down heavily.

"No, no, Tom," cried the captain, testily; "I can manage the helm."

"But, Doctor Liss!" said the boy, appealingly.

"Don't appeal to me, my boy," said the doctor, gravely. "You know your father's and your uncle's wish. It is your duty to obey."

"Oh!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Sydney, in a tone of voice which seemed to say, "I did think you would side with me."

The doctor took a pinch of snuff.

"You see, Syd," continued the captain, "your uncle has no son, and I have only one to keep up the honour of our family. You will join your s.h.i.+p with the best of prospects, and I hope you will be a credit to us both."

Sydney said nothing, but took another walnut, and cracked it viciously, as if it was the head of a savage enemy.

That night he lay tumbling and unable to sleep, his brow knit and his teeth set, feeling as obstinate as a boy can feel who has not been allowed to have his own way.

CHAPTER TWO.

The next morning Sydney Belton rose in excellent time, but not from a desire to keep good hours. He could not sleep well, so he dressed and went out, to find it was only on the stroke of six.

As he reached the garden, there was his self-const.i.tuted enemy stretching out before him, far as eye could reach, and sparkling gloriously in the morning suns.h.i.+ne.

"Bother the sea!" muttered the boy, scowling. "Wish it was all dry

"What cheer, lad! Mornin', mornin'. Don't she look lovely, eh?"

"Morning, Barney," said the boy, turning to see that the old boatswain had come to work with a scythe over his shoulder. "What looks lovely this morning?"

"Eh? Why, the sea, of course. Wish I was afloat, 'stead of having to shave this lawn, like a wholesale barber. Got any noos?"

"Yes, Barney," said the boy, bitterly; "I'm to go to sea."

"Hurray!" cried the old boatswain, rubbing his scythe-blade with the stone rubber, and bringing forth a musical sound.

"You're glad of it, then?"

"Course I am, my lad. Be the making on you. Wish I was coming too."

"Bah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Sydney, and he left the old boatswain to commence the toilet of the dewy lawn, while in a desultory way, for the sake of doing something to fill up the time till breakfast, he strolled round to the back, where a loud whistling attracted his attention.

The sound came from an outhouse, toward which the boy directed his steps.

"Cleaning the knives, I suppose," said Sydney to himself, and going to the door he looked in.

The tray of knives was there waiting to be cleaned, and the board and bath-brick were on a bench, but the red-faced boy was otherwise engaged.

He was kneeling down with a rough, curly-haired retriever dog sitting up before him, with paws drooped and nose rigid, while Pan was carefully balancing a knife across the pointed nose aforesaid.

Pan was so busily employed that he did not hear the step, and the first notification he had of another's presence was given by the dog, who raised his muzzle suddenly and uttered a loud and piteous whine directed at Sydney--the dog's cry seeming to say, "Do make him leave off."

The glance the boatswain's son gave made him spring at the board, s.n.a.t.c.h up a couple of the implements, and begin to rub them to and fro furiously, while the dog, in high glee at being freed from an arduous task, began to leap about, barking loudly, and making dashes at his young master's legs.

"Poor old Don--there!" cried Sydney, patting the dog's ears. "He don't like discipline, then. Well, Pan, when are you going to sea?"

"Not never," said the boy, shortly.

"Yes, you are. Your father said he should send you."

"If he does I shall run away, so there," cried the boy.

Sydney turned away, and walked through the garden, his head bent, his brow wrinkled, and his mind so busily occupied, that he hardly heeded which way he went.

"If his father sends him he shall run away."

Those words kept on repeating themselves in Sydney's brain like some jingle, and he found himself thinking of them more and more as he pa.s.sed through the gate, and went along the road that late autumn morning, kicking up the dead leaves which lay cl.u.s.tering beneath the trees.

"If his father sends him to sea he shall run away," said Sydney to himself; and then he thought of how Pan Strake would be free, and have no more boots and shoes or knives to clean, and not have to go into the garden to weed the paths.

Then by a natural course he found himself thinking that if he, Sydney Belton, were to leave home, he would escape being sent to sea--at all events back to school--and he too would be free.

With a boy's wilful obstinacy, he carefully drew a veil over all the good, and dragged out into the mental light all that he looked upon as bad in his every-day life, satisfied himself that he was ill-used, and wished that he had had a mother living to, as he called it, take his part.

"I wonder what running away would be like?" he thought. "There would be no Uncle Tom to come and bully and bother me, and father wouldn't be there to take his side against me. I wonder what one could do if one ran away?"