“The letter to your father.”
“What letter to my father? Has Uncle Tom written to him?”
“Belt, old fellow, hold up,” cried Roylance, half frantically. “Don’t you give way.”
“Oh, I did feel so stupid,” said Syd, with a loud harsh laugh. “Said I wouldn’t go to sea, and ran away, and then came sneaking back with my tail between my legs. Oh, there’s Barney.”
“No, no, my dear fellow; there’s no one here.”
“Yes, there is,” cried Syd, angrily, as he stared with bloodshot eyes straight before him. “Barney, what does the dad say? Is he very cross?”
“Oh, Belt; don’t, don’t,” groaned Roylance.—“I must get him under shelter.”
He took his friend’s arm.
“No, no, you shan’t,” cried Sydney. “I won’t be dragged in before them. I’ll go in straight when I do go, and say I was wrong. Touch me again, Barney, and I’ll hit you.”
“It is I, Belt. Don’t you know me?”