“Because I’m such a coward, father.”
“A Belton!” groaned the admiral, “and says he is a coward.”
“A boy to be a sailor ought to be fond of the sea.”
“Of course, sir,” said the captain.
“And I hate it.”
“And pray why?” said the admiral, fiercely.
“Because it’s so salt,” said Syd, busy helping himself to some more of the condiment he had named.
“Salt?” cried the admiral. “Of course it is, and so it ought to be. Nonsense! He’s laughing at us, Harry—a dog.”
“No, I’m not, uncle; I’m not fit to be a sailor.”
“Then, pray, what are you fit for, sir?” cried Captain Belton, angrily.