“Why don’t you have a ship again, father?”
“Because I have no interest, my boy, and don’t go petitioning and begging at court. But they don’t want sea-captains now, they want scented popinjays. Why, Syd, I’ve begged for a ship scores of times during the past two years, but always been passed over. I wouldn’t care if they’d appoint better men; but when I see our best vessels given to such things as that! Oh, hang it, I shall be saying what I shall be sorry for if I go on like this. Come and have a walk. No; I’ll go to the Admiralty, and see if I can get a hearing there. If I can’t—if they will not help me to place my boy in the service which all the Beltons have followed for a hundred and fifty years, I’ll— There, come along, boy, the world is not perfect.”
He walked sharply down into the Strand and then on to Whitehall, where he turned into the Admiralty Yard, and sent in his card to one of the chief officials, who kept him waiting two hours, during which the captain fumed to see quite a couple of score naval officers go in and return, while he was passed over.
“Here you see an epitome of my life during the past fifteen years, Syd,” he said, bitterly. “Always passed over and—”
“His lordship will see you now, if you please,” said an official.
“Hah! pretty well time,” muttered the captain. “Come along, Syd.”
They followed the clerk along a gloomy passage, and were shown into a dark room where a fierce-looking old gentleman in powder and queue sat writing, but who laid down his pen and rose as Captain Belton’s name was announced; shook hands cordially, and then placed his hands upon his visitor’s shoulders and forced him into an easy-chair.
“Sit down, Harry Belton, sit down,” he cried. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but wanted to get rid of all my petitioners and visitors, so as to be free for a long talk. Why, I haven’t seen you or heard of you these ten years.”
“Not for want of my applying for employment, my lord,” said Captain Belton, stiffly.
“But then I’ve not been in office, my dear Belton; and, hang it, man, don’t ‘my lord’ me. And who’s this?”