“Well, it’s impossible to give this boy a serious lecture now, Tom,” said the captain, wiping his eyes, as he passed the coffee.
“Of course. Who wants serious lectures?” said the admiral, testily. “The boy did wrong, and he came back and said he was sorry for it. You’ve told me scores of times that you never flogged a man who was really sorry for getting into a scrape. Give me some of that ham, Syd, and go on eating yourself. I say, rum old punch I look, don’t I?”
Syd made no reply, but filled his uncle’s plate, and the breakfast went on nearly to the end before the topic dreaded was introduced.
“Well, Sydney,” said his father, rather sadly, “so I suppose I must let you be a doctor?”
“Wish he was one now,” cried the admiral. “I’d make him try to make me fit to be seen. Humph! doctor, eh? No; I don’t think I shall try to be ill to give you a job, Syd; but I’m very glad, my boy, that you did not take that money.”
Sydney bent over his coffee, and his father went on—
“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?”