“And he wouldn’t, of course,” said the old gentleman, more fiercely still. “Wrong man, my dear sir. Ladder kicker. And so, young sir, you haven’t got a ship?”
“No; and if you could help me, my lord—”
“If you call me my lord again, Harry Belton, I won’t stir a peg.—Do you know, boy, that I was once in command of a small sloop, and your father was my first officer? I say, Belton, remember those old days?”
“Ay, I do,” said the captain, with his eyes lighting up.
“Remember cutting out the Spaniard at Porto Bello?”
“Yes; and the fight with the big vessel in the Gut.”
“Ah, to be sure. How we made the splinters fly! Bad luck that was for those other two to come up. Rare games we had, my boy. We must get you a ship under some good captain.”
“If you could do that for me,” said Captain Belton, eagerly.
“Well, I can try and serve an old friend, even if he is a lazy one who likes to be in dock instead of being at sea. By the way, Belton, how old are you?”
“Fifty-eight.”