said.”

“I can’t apologise for what I did not do,” said the boy, stubbornly.

“What, sir?”

“Steady, steady, sir,” said the captain. “He’s a confoundedly impudent young scamp, but he could not tell a lie.”

“But he laughed in my face, Harry?”

“I was laughing at myself, uncle.”

“At yourself, sir?”

“Yes, I was thinking what a popinjay I should look in a cocked hat.”

“Well, really,” said the admiral, “I am beginning to be glad, Harry, that I never married and had a son. I used to be envious about this boy, and wanted a share in him. But a boy who can laugh at a part of his Majesty’s uniform—well! Why, you young whipper-snapper, did I ever look a—a—a popinjay in my cocked hat?”

“Well, you used to look very rum, uncle.”

“Harry, my dear boy,” said the admiral, fiercely; “we are old men, and this young dog represents us. May I take him into the library, and give him a good caning?”

“No, Tom, certainly not.”

“No, of course not, Harry; I beg your pardon. Now, sir—pass that port—and—a—don’t fill your own glass. Port like that, sir, is only fit for gentlemen. And you—you want to be a doctor, eh?”

“Yes, uncle,” said the boy, pushing the decanter along the table.

“And pray what for, sir?”

“To do good to people.”

“What? A doctor do good! Rubbish! Never did me a bit of good.”

“Oh, but they do, uncle.”

“Never, sir. That Liss has pretty well poisoned me over and over again.”

“Oh, uncle, what a—”

“You say that if you dare, sir,” cried the old admiral, bringing his hand down bang upon the table, and making the glasses dance. “It’s the truth. Always made my gout worse. Colchicum—colchicum—colchicum—and the pain awful. Doctors are an absurd new invention, and of no use whatever.”

“Why, you always have a doctor on board ship.”

“Surgeon, you young dog, surgeon. Doctor! Bah! Hang all doctors! A surgeon is of some use in action, cutting, and splicing, and fishing a poor fellow’s limbs; but a doctor—”

At that moment a rubicund butler opened the dining-room door, and stood back for some one to enter.

“Doctor Liss, sir,” he said quietly; and a quick, eager-looking little man in snuff-coloured coat and long, salt-box-pocketed waistcoat entered the room, handing his cocked hat and stick to the butler, and nodding pleasantly from one to the other.

“Who was that shouting for the doctor?” he said cheerily, as he rubbed his hands; then took out a gold snuff-box, tapped it, opened it, and handed it to the captain.

“You, wasn’t it, Sir Thomas? Touch of your old enemy?”

“No,” grunted the admiral, “I’m sound as a roach. Bah!”

“Thankye, Liss,” said the captain, taking his pinch, and handing back the box; “sit down. Syd, pass those clean glasses.”

The admiral took a pinch, and then the new-comer took his, loudly snapped-to the box, and drew out a delicate cambric handkerchief to flap off some snuff from his shirt-frill.

As soon as the doctor was comfortably seated the port was passed, and then there was silence, Sydney looking from one to the other, and wondering what was coming next.

The doctor, too, looked from one to the other and formed his own opinion.

“Hullo!” he said. “In disgrace, Sydney? What have you been doing, sir?”

“Eating walnuts,” said the boy, mischievously.

“And defying his father and uncle—a dog!” cried the admiral. “Here, Liss; what do you think he says?”

“Bless me! I don’t know.”

“Why, confound him! says he wants to be a doctor.”

“Does he?” cried the new-comer, turning to look at Sydney. “Well, I’m not surprised.”

“But I am,” cried Captain Belton, angrily.

“And I’m astounded,” said the admiral. “A Belton descend to being an apothecary.”

“Ah!” said the doctor, dryly, as he held his glass up to the light, “terrible descent, certainly. Wants to save life instead of destroying it.”

“Now, look here, Liss,” began the admiral, fiercely.

“No, no, Tom, let me speak,” said Captain Belton. “No quarrelling.”

“No, you had better not quarrel,” said the doctor, good-humouredly. “Make you both ill, and then I shall have you at my mercy.”

“Indeed you will not,” said the admiral, “for I’ll call in old Marchant from Lowerport.”

“Not you,” cried the doctor, laughing; “you dare not. I’m the only man who understands your constitution.”

“There, there, there!” cried the captain, “that’s enough. But really, sir, it’s too bad. As an old friend I did not think you would lead my boy astray.”

“I? Astray? Nonsense!”

“But you have, sir. You’ve taken him out with you on your rounds, and the young dog thinks of nothing else but doctoring.”

“And pill-boxes and gallipots,” said the admiral, fiercely.

“Now, my dear old friends, you are not talking sense,” said the doctor, quietly. “Sydney has been my rounds with me a good deal, and he has certainly displayed so much interest in all my surgical cases, that if he were my boy I should certainly make him a doctor.”

“Impossible!” cried the captain.

“Not to be heard of,” said Sir Thomas. “He’s going to sea.”

Sydney, who had been fidgeting about in his chair, gave a sudden kick out with his right leg, and felt something soft as his uncle uttered a savage yell, and thrust his chair back from the table.

“I—I beg your pardon, uncle, I did not know that—”

“You did, sir,” cried the old man furiously, as he shook his fist at the boy. “You did it maliciously; out of spite, because I want to make a man of you. Bless me, Harry,” he continued, “if you don’t take that young scoundrel out into the hall and thrash him, I’ll never darken your doors again. Dear—dear—dear—dear! Bless my soul! Ah!”

The poor old admiral had risen, and was limping about when Sydney went after him.

“Uncle,” he began.

“Bah!” ejaculated the old man, grasping him by the collar. “Here he is, brother Harry; I’ve got him. Now then, take him out.”

“I’m very sorry, uncle,” said Sydney. “I didn’t know it was your gouty leg there.”

“Then, you did do it on purpose, sir?”

“No, I didn’t, uncle. I wouldn’t have been such a coward.”

“Of course he wouldn’t,” said the doctor. “But there, sir, sit down; the pain is gone off now.”

“How do you know?” cried the admiral. “It’s as if ten thousand red-hot irons were searing it. Harry, you’ve spoiled that boy.”

“No, I join issue there,” said Captain Belton. “You’ve indulged him ten times more than ever I have, Tom.”

“It is not true, brother Harry,” said the admiral, limping to his chair.

“Oh yes, it is. Hasn’t your uncle spoiled you, Sydney, far more than I have?”

“No, father,” replied the boy, quietly, as he helped the old admiral to sit down, and placed an ottoman under his injured leg.

“Thankye, boy, thankye. And you’re not so bad as I said; ’tis quite true, it’s your father’s doing.”

“I think you’ve both spoiled me,” said Sydney, quietly; and the doctor helped himself to another glass of port to hide his mirth.

“Won’t do, Liss, you’re laughing. I can see you,” said the admiral. “That’s just what you doctors enjoy, seeing other people suffer, so that you may laugh and grow fat.”

“Oh, I was not laughing at your pain,” said the doctor, quietly, “but at Sydney’s judgment. He is quite right, you do both spoil him.”

“What?”

“He has three times as much money to spend as is right, and I wonder he does not waste it more. Well, Syd, my boy, so they will not let you be a doctor?”