Syd Belton: The Boy Who Would Not Go to Sea

“Here you, Syd, pass the port.”
Sydney Belton took hold of the silver decanter-stand and slid it carefully along the polished mahogany table towards where Admiral Belton sat back in his chair.
“Avast!”
The ruddy-faced old gentleman roared out that adjuration in so thunderous a way that the good-looking boy who was passing the decanter started and nearly turned it over.
“What’s the matter, Tom?” came from the other end of the table, where Captain Belton, a sturdy-looking, grey-haired gentleman nearly as ruddy as his brother, was the admiral’s vis-à-vis .
“He’s passing the decanter without filling his own glass!” cried the admiral. “Fill up, you young dog, and drink the King’s health.”
“No, thank you, uncle,” said the boy, quietly, “I’ve had one glass.”
“Well, sir, so have I. Don’t I tell you I’m going to propose the King’s health?”
“I’ll drink it in water, uncle.”
“What, sir? Drink the health of his most gracious Majesty in raw water! Not if I know it.”
“But port wine makes my face burn, uncle, and Doctor Liss says—”