“Beg my pardon, sir!—after planting your ugly great knees on my chest, and then sitting on me with your heavy carcase!”
“Is anything the matter?” said a voice at the door, and Sydney made his appearance, looking startled at the scene.
“No, no, my boy,” cried his uncle, cheerily; “only your father and I came down to get you a bit of supper, and then they boarded us in the dark.”
“Yes, yes, that was it, Syd,” said the captain. “Here, put that plate on a tray, Broughton, and take it into the library. I’m very sorry this has happened.”
“All a mistake, sir, I’m sure,” said the butler, taking the plate with the hacked and torn-off portions of pheasant.
“Yes; don’t say any more about it. Come, brother Tom; come, Sydney.”
He led the way, but the jolly old admiral could not follow for laughing. He leaned up against the larder shelf, and stood wiping his eyes; and every time he got over one paroxysm he began again. But at last he beckoned to Barney.
“Here, give me your arm, bo’sun,” he said, “and help me into the library; I feel as if everything were going by the board. Oh, dear me! oh, dear me! Wait till I’ve buttoned this waistcoat. Well, it’s a lesson. Done for you, Syd, if you had been going to sea. Never attack without proper signals to know who are enemies and who are not.”
The supper was soon spread in the library, and Sydney was ravenous for a few mouthfuls, but after that he pushed his plate away, and could eat no more.
“What!” cried his uncle; “done? Nonsense! I can peck a bit now myself; and, Harry, my boy, I must have a glass of grog after this.”