"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.
"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?"
"God 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, God 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."