“What, sir? No, I don’t: you’re right.”
A week passed, during which Barney suggested that the proper thing for Captain Belton to do was to purchase some well-built merchant schooner, and fit her out as a privateer.
“I could soon get together as smart a crew as you’d care to have, and then there’d be a chance for your son to get to be a leefftenant ’fore you knew where you were.”
But Captain Belton only laughed, and matters at the Heronry remained as they were, till one day with the other letters there came one that was big and official, and its effect upon the two old officers was striking.
“From the Admiralty, Tom,” said the captain, as he glanced at the great seal, and then began to take out his knife to slit open the fold.
“I can see that,” said the admiral. “It’s from Claudene. Syd, lad, you’re in luck. He has got you appointed to a ship, after all.”
“Bless my soul!” cried the captain, dropping the great missive on the table.
“What is it, my lad?—what is it?” cried Sir Thomas.
“Read—read,” cried Captain Belton, huskily—“it’s too good to believe.”
Sir Thomas snatched up the official letter, cast his eyes over it, and then, forgetting his gout, caught hold of Syd’s hands and began to caper about the room like a maniac.