Syd Belton | Page 4

I said; 'tis quite true,
it's your father's doing."
"I think you've both spoiled me," said Sydney, quietly; and the doctor
helped himself to another glass of port to hide his mirth.
"Won't do, Liss, you're laughing. I can see you," said the admiral.
"That's just what you doctors enjoy, seeing other people suffer, so that
you may laugh and grow fat."
"Oh, I was not laughing at your pain," said the doctor, quietly, "but at
Sydney's judgment. He is quite right, you do both spoil him."
"What?"

"He has three times as much money to spend as is right, and I wonder
he does not waste it more. Well, Syd, my boy, so they will not let you
be a doctor?"
Sydney frowned, and cracked a walnut till the shell and nut were all
crushed together.
"And so you are to make up your mind to go to sea?"
"Yes," said the admiral, emphatically.
"Certainly," said Captain Belton; and, as soon after the conversation
turned into political matters, Sydney quietly left his chair, strolled to
the window, and stood gazing out at the estuary upon which the
captain's house looked down.
It was a glorious view. The long stretch of water was dappled with
orange and gold; and here and there the great men-of-war were lying at
anchor, some waiting their commanders; others, whose sea days were
past, waiting patiently for their end, sent along dark shadows behind
them. Here and there fishing-boats with tawny sails were putting out to
sea for the night's fishing; and as Sydney's eyes wandered, a frown
settled upon his forehead, and he stepped out through the open window
into the garden.
"Bother the old sea!" he said, petulantly. "It's always sea, sea, sea, from
morning till night. I don't want to go, and I won't."
As he spoke he passed under an apple tree, one of whose fruit, missed
in the gathering a month before, had dropped, and picking it up, the boy
relieved his feelings by throwing it with all his might across the garden.
The effect was as sudden as that produced by his kick; for there was a
shout and sound of feet rapidly approaching, and a red-faced boy of
about his own age came into sight, hatless and breathless, panting,
wild-eyed, and with fists clenched ready for assault.
"Who threw--Oh, it was you, was it, Master Sydney? You coward!"

"Who's a coward?" cried Sydney, hotly.
"You are. You throwed that apple and hit me, 'cause you knowed I
dursen't hit you again."
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did, and you are a coward."
"No, I'm not a coward."
"Yes, you are. If I hit you, I know what you'd do--go and tell your
father, and get me sent away."
"There, then! Does that feel like a coward's blow?--or that?--or that?"
Three sharp cuffs in the chest illustrated Sydney's words, two of which
the boy bore, flinching at each; but rising beyond endurance by the
third, he retaliated with one so well planted that Sydney went down in a
sitting position, but in so elastic a fashion that he was up again on the
instant, and flew at the giver of the blow.
Then for five minutes there was a sharp encounter, with its
accompaniments of hard breathing, muttering, dull sounds of blows and
scuffling feet, till a broad-shouldered, red-faced man in a serge apron
came down upon them at a trot, and securing each by the shoulder held
them apart.
"Now then," he growled, "what's this here?"
"Pan hit me, and I'm dressing him down," panted Sydney. "Here, let go,
Barney."
"Master Syd hit me first, father," panted the red-faced boy.
"Howld your tongue, warmint, will you," said the man in a deep growl.
"Want to have me chucked overboard, and lose my bit o' pension.
You're allus a-going at your pastors and masters."

"Hit me first," remonstrated the boy, as the new-comer gave him a
shake.
"Well, what o' that, you ungrateful young porpuss! Hasn't the cap'n hit
me lots o' times and chucked things at me? You never see me flyin' in
his face."
"Chucked a big apple at me first," cried the boy in an ill-used tone.
"Sarve you right too. Has he hurt you much, Master Sydney?"
"No, Barney; not a bit. There, I was wrong. I didn't know he was there
when I threw the apple. I only did it because I felt vicious."
"Hear that, you young sarpint?" cried the square-shouldered man.
"Yes, father."
"Then just you recollect. If the young skipper feels wicious, he's a right
to chuck apples. Why, it's rank mutiny hitting him again."
"Hit me first," grumbled the boy.
"Ay, and I'll hit you first. Why, if I'd been board ship again, instead of
being a pensioner and keeping this here garden