Part 4 (1/2)
”Too young to understand discipline yet, Master Sydney,” said the man.
”And so you felt wicious, did you? What about?”
”They've been at me again about going to sea, Barney.”
”And you don't want to go, my lad?”
”No; and I won't go.”
”Hear that, Pan, my lad?”
The boy nodded and drew down the corner of his lips, with the effect that Sydney made a threatening gesture.
”No, I'm not afraid, Pan,” he cried fiercely; ”but I don't want to go, and I won't.”
The broad-shouldered man shook his head mournfully, and taking out a steel tobacco-box he opened it and cut off a piece of black, pressed weed, to transfer to his cheek, as he again shook his head sadly.
”I'm sorry to hear that, Master Sydney,” he said.
”Why?”
”'Cause it's agen nature. I'm sixty-two now, and from the time I was a little shaver right up to now I never heerd a well-grown, strong, good-looking young chap say he didn't want to go to sea.”
”Ah, well, Barney, you've heard one now.”
”Ay, ay! and mighty sorry too, sir. Why, there have been times when I've said to myself, 'Maybe when the young master gets his promotion and a s.h.i.+p of his own, he'll come and say to me, Now then, Barney, now's your time to get rid o' the rust; I'll get you painted and sc.r.a.ped, and you shall come to sea with me.'”
”You, Barney? You are too old now. What would you be then?”
”Old! Old! Get out! I don't call myself old by a long way, Master Syd; and if it hadn't been for the captain laying up I should ha' been at sea now. But you'll think better on it, sir; you'll go.”
”What, to sea, Barney?”
”Ay, sir.”
”No; I mean to be a doctor.”
”Then I says it again as I said it afore, Master Syd, there's something the matter with you.”
”Matter? Nonsense! What do you mean?”
”Why, what you say sounds so gal-ish and soft, it makes me think as you must have ketched something going out with the doctor.”
”What rubbish, Barney!”
”But you going to be a doctor!” cried the old sailor, rubbing his nose with a great gnarled finger. ”You, who might be an admiral and command a squadron: no, sir, it won't do.”
”It will have to do, Barney.”
”Well, sir, it mought and it moughtn't; but it strikes me as you've got something coming on, sir, as is a weakening your head--measles, or fever, or such-like--or you wouldn't talk as you do about the Ryle Navee.”