“What’s the matter, Tom?” came from the other end of the table, where Captain Belton, a sturdy-looking, grey-haired gentleman nearly as ruddy as his brother, was the admiral’s vis-à-vis.
“He’s passing the decanter without filling his own glass!” cried the admiral. “Fill up, you young dog, and drink the King’s health.”
“No, thank you, uncle,” said the boy, quietly, “I’ve had one glass.”
“Well, sir, so have I. Don’t I tell you I’m going to propose the King’s health?”
“I’ll drink it in water, uncle.”
“What, sir? Drink the health of his most gracious Majesty in raw water! Not if I know it.”
“But port wine makes my face burn, uncle, and Doctor Liss says—”
“Confound Doctor Liss, sir! Hang Doctor Liss, sir! By George, sir, if I were in active service again, and your Doctor Liss were in my squadron, I’d have him triced up and give him twelve dozen, sir.”
“No, you wouldn’t, uncle,” said the boy, cracking a walnut, and glancing at his father, who was watching him furtively.
“What, sir? I wouldn’t? Look here, brother Harry, Liss is corrupting this boy’s mind.”