“Ah, well, Barney, you’ve heard one now.”
“Ay, ay! and mighty sorry too, sir. Why, there have been times when I’ve said to myself, ‘Maybe when the young master gets his promotion and a ship of his own, he’ll come and say to me, Now then, Barney, now’s your time to get rid o’ the rust; I’ll get you painted and scraped, and you shall come to sea with me.’”
“You, Barney? You are too old now. What would you be then?”
“Old! Old! Get out! I don’t call myself old by a long way, Master Syd; and if it hadn’t been for the captain laying up I should ha’ been at sea now. But you’ll think better on it, sir; you’ll go.”
“What, to sea, Barney?”
“Ay, sir.”
“No; I mean to be a doctor.”
“Then I says it again as I said it afore, Master Syd, there’s something the matter with you.”
“Matter? Nonsense! What do you mean?”
“Why, what you say sounds so gal-ish and soft, it makes me think as you must have ketched something going out with the doctor.”