Syd Belton | Page 5

in order for the skipper,
I should have put my pipe to my mouth, and--What say, Master Syd?"
"Don't say any more about it. I'd no business to hit Pan, and I'm sorry I
did now."
"Well, sir, I don't know 'bout not having no business, 'cause you see
you're the skipper's son, and nothing does a boy so much good as a
leathering; but if you're sorry for it, there's an end on it. Pan-a-mar, my
lad, beg Master Sydney's pardon."
"He hit me first," grumbled the boy.
"Do you want me to give you a good rope's-ending, my sonny?"
growled the man; "'cause if you do, just you say that 'ere agen."

The red-faced boy uttered a smothered growl, and was silent.
"Too young to understand discipline yet, Master Sydney," said the man.
"And so you felt wicious, did you? What about?"
"They've been at me again about going to sea, Barney."
"And you don't want to go, my lad?"
"No; and I won't go."
"Hear that, Pan, my lad?"
The boy nodded and drew down the corner of his lips, with the effect
that Sydney made a threatening gesture.
"No, I'm not afraid, Pan," he cried fiercely; "but I don't want to go, and
I won't."
The broad-shouldered man shook his head mournfully, and taking out a
steel tobacco-box he opened it and cut off a piece of black, pressed
weed, to transfer to his cheek, as he again shook his head sadly.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Master Sydney," he said.
"Why?"
"'Cause it's agen nature. I'm sixty-two now, and from the time I was a
little shaver right up to now I never heerd a well-grown, strong,
good-looking young chap say he didn't want to go to sea."
"Ah, well, Barney, you've heard one now."
"Ay, ay! and mighty sorry too, sir. Why, there have been times when
I've said to myself, `Maybe when the young master gets his promotion
and a ship of his own, he'll come and say to me, Now then, Barney,
now's your time to get rid o' the rust; I'll get you painted and scraped,
and you shall come to sea with me.'"

"You, Barney? You are too old now. What would you be then?"
"Old! Old! Get out! I don't call myself old by a long way, Master Syd;
and if it hadn't been for the captain laying up I should ha' been at sea
now. But you'll think better on it, sir; you'll go."
"What, to sea, Barney?"
"Ay, sir."
"No; I mean to be a doctor."
"Then I says it again as I said it afore, Master Syd, there's something
the matter with you."
"Matter? Nonsense! What do you mean?"
"Why, what you say sounds so gal-ish and soft, it makes me think as
you must have ketched something going out with the doctor."
"What rubbish, Barney!"
"But you going to be a doctor!" cried the old sailor, rubbing his nose
with a great gnarled finger. "You, who might be an admiral and
command a squadron: no, sir, it won't do."
"It will have to do, Barney."
"Well, sir, it mought and it moughtn't; but it strikes me as you've got
something coming on, sir, as is a weakening your head--measles, or
fever, or such-like--or you wouldn't talk as you do about the Ryle
Navee."
"I talk about it as I do because I don't want to go to sea."
"But it's a flying in the face of the skipper and the admiral. Bobstays
and chocks! I wish I was your age and got the chance o' going instead
o' being always ashore here plarntin' the cabbages and pulling up the
weeds."

"Then you don't like being a gardener, Barney?"
"I 'ates it, sir."
"And so do I hate being a sailor. There!"
"But it's so onnat'ral, sir. Here's your father been a sailor, same as I've
been a sailor, and I've drilled up Pan-a-mar o' purpose to be useful to
you in the same ship. Why, it's like wasting a season in the garden. I
meant him to be your Jack factotum, as the skipper used to call it, and
you never heard him say he didn't want to go to sea."
"You said you'd rope's-end me if I did," grumbled the red-faced boy.
"And so I will, you young swab," roared the gardener. "Why, you
onnat'ral young galley-dabber, are you going to turn up your ugly pig's
nose at your father's purfession?"
"Pan doesn't like the sea any more than I do," cried Sydney; "and I say
it's a shame to force boys to be what they don't like."
"Well, this beats all," cried the gardener, helping himself to a fresh
piece of tobacco. "What the world's coming to next, I dunnow. Why, if
the King, bless him!