“And I promised him he should not be punished.”
“Yes, sir, he did, or else I wouldn’t have come back.”
“What!” roared the admiral, in a tone which made Pan shrink into himself. “And look here, sir,” he continued, turning to his nephew, “who made you first in command with your promises?”
“Don’t let him be flogged, father,” pleaded Syd. “I’m to blame about him. I did promise him that if he would come back he should not be punished.”
“Take your boy home, Strake, and bring him here to-morrow morning,” said the captain, sternly. “He is not to be flogged till he has made his defence.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” growled the old boatswain; and pulling an imaginary forelock, he hauled Pan out of the room, their passage down the path towards the gardener’s cottage being accompanied by a deep growling noise which gradually died away.
“Well, sir,” said the captain, coldly, “you heard what I said.”
Syd looked from one to the other appealingly, feeling that as he had humbly confessed he was in the wrong, he ought to be treated with more leniency, but his uncle averted his gaze, and his father merely pointed to the door, through which, faint, weary, and despondent, the boy went out into the hall, while the two old men seemed to be listening till he had gone up-stairs.
“A miserable, mean-spirited young scoundrel!” said Captain Belton, angrily, but his face grew less stern directly, as he saw his brother throw himself back in his chair, to laugh silently till he was nearly purple.
“Oh, dear me!” he panted at last, “nearly given me a fit. What a dirty, miserable object he looked!”