“Ah, and I’m seventy. Plenty of work in me yet, though. There, I’ll bear my young friend here in mind. Come and dine with me one day next week, Belton, for I must send you off now; you’ve had half an hour instead of five minutes. Say Monday—Tuesday.”
“Thank you, no,” said the captain, rising. “I’ve done all I can, and will get back home.”
“Bah! You’re a bad courtier, Belton. Stubborn as ever. You ought to hang about here, and sneak and fawn upon me, and jump at the chance of dining with me, in the hope that I might be able to help you.”
“Yes, my lord, I suppose so,” said the captain, sadly; “but if the country wants my services it will have to seek me now. I’m growing too old to beg for what is my right.”
“And meanwhile our ships are badly handled and go to the bottom, which would be a good thing if only their inefficient captains were drowned; but it’s their crews as well. There, good-bye, Belton. Don’t come to town again without calling on me. I’ll try and serve your boy. One moment—where are you? Oh yes, I see; I have your card. Good-bye, middy. Remember me to the admiral.”
The fierce-looking old gentleman saw them to the door, and soon after father and son were on their way back to the hotel, and the next morning on the Southbayton coach.
“Ah, Sydney, lad,” said the captain, “we shall have to bind you ’prentice to a ’pothecary, after all.”
“But Lord Claudene said he would try and serve you about me, father; and I should be disappointed if I didn’t go to sea now.”
“Indeed?” said the captain, laughing. “You will have to bear the disappointment. There are hundreds constantly applying at the Admiralty.”
“Yes, father, but you are a friend.”