“Why did you tell me to go and put them on?” cried the boy, angrily, “if you only meant to laugh at me?”
“Bah! nonsense! What do you mean, sir? Are you going to be so thin-skinned that you can’t bear to be joked? Come here.”
The boy stood by his side.
“I was going to show you how to take up your belt and to button your waistcoat. There! that’s better. Flying out like that at me because I laughed! How will you get along among your messmates, who are sure to begin roasting you as soon as you go aboard?”
“I beg your pardon, uncle. I seemed to feel so ridiculous, and everybody laughed.”
“Let them. There! that’s better. See how a touch or two from one who knows turns a slovenly look into one that’s smart. Hallo! some one at the door, my lad; go and see. No; stop. Come in.”
The door was opened, and Barney in his uniform of petty officer entered, looking smartened up into a man ten years younger than when he worked in the garden at the Heronry.
As Barney took off his hat and entered, closing the door behind him, his eyes lit first upon Syd, and his face puckered up into a broad grin.
“And now you!” cried Sydney, angrily. “Uncle, I’m not fit to wear a uniform; I look ridiculous.”
“Who says so?” cried the old man, angrily. “Here you, Strake, don’t stand grinning there like a corbel on an old church.”