“Indeed you will not,” said the admiral, “for I’ll call in old Marchant from Lowerport.”
“Not you,” cried the doctor, laughing; “you dare not. I’m the only man who understands your constitution.”
“There, there, there!” cried the captain, “that’s enough. But really, sir, it’s too bad. As an old friend I did not think you would lead my boy astray.”
“I? Astray? Nonsense!”
“But you have, sir. You’ve taken him out with you on your rounds, and the young dog thinks of nothing else but doctoring.”
“And pill-boxes and gallipots,” said the admiral, fiercely.
“Now, my dear old friends, you are not talking sense,” said the doctor, quietly. “Sydney has been my rounds with me a good deal, and he has certainly displayed so much interest in all my surgical cases, that if he were my boy I should certainly make him a doctor.”
“Impossible!” cried the captain.
“Not to be heard of,” said Sir Thomas. “He’s going to sea.”
Sydney, who had been fidgeting about in his chair, gave a sudden kick out with his right leg, and felt something soft as his uncle uttered a savage yell, and thrust his chair back from the table.