"I have been thinking, sir," he continued, "that my grandfather, instead of helping forward my exchange so I can return to France, is rather preventing it."
"I understand that you are Lord Bellingham's heir," responded the Admiral.
"No, sir. Heir only to the title I can't use. The entail is cut."
"Your grandfather, no doubt, is anxious for you to live in England with him. In that case you would have a splendid future before you."
"If you had tried living with Lord Bellingham—" began Archy; then stopped. His grandfather had certainly been very kind to him, and the shovel and tongs and boot-jacks and other impedimenta which Lord Bellingham so freely distributed in his rages had never flown in Archy's direction. Admiral Digby laughed outright.
"There are very few persons in England or Scotland who don't know about Lord Bellingham," he said. "But to return to yourself. As soon as you are able to leave your berth you will become the guest of the gunroom mess, and then I shall hope to have the pleasure of your company occasionally in the great cabin. As soon as we meet a homeward-bound vessel you shall be put aboard of her, whether it be before or after we reach Gibraltar. And now good-day to you, and may you soon be on deck again."
After the Admiral left him Archy lay there a little time longer, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was hungry. He bawled for the sick-bay nurse, and when the man came ordered him to bring him some of everything that was served in the galley. The man followed these directions, and Archy, finding his midshipman's appetite returning in full force, devoured everything in sight. Just as the last scrap of pudding disappeared Dr. MacBean entered.
"It is just time, my young friend," blandly remarked the surgeon, "that you may have a light meal of gruel served you, but nothing solid—nothing whatever of that kind."
"Much obliged, sir," answered Archy, "but I have just finished a glorious meal—pea-soup, salt horse, potatoes, and pudding—and I feel about a hundred times better."