“I’m not going to try, Harry,” said the old gentleman, fiercely.
“Then why go? You are comfortable here.”
“I’m going up to horsewhip that contemptible little scoundrel Dashleigh, and fight him afterwards, though he’s hardly gentleman enough.”
“Nonsense, Tom!”
“Nonsense? Why I made that fellow—and pretty waste of time too! And now he’s in command of a seventy-four, and you may go begging for a word to get your boy into the midshipmen’s berth.”
Uncle Tom did not go up to town to horsewhip or fight.
“Never mind,” he said, “he’s sure to run his ship on the rocks, or get thrashed—a scoundrel! Here, Syd, take my advice.”
“What is it, uncle?”
“Never do any one a kind action as long as you live.”
“You don’t mean it, uncle.”