Part 4 (2/2)
”I talk about it as I do because I don't want to go to sea.”
”But it's a flying in the face of the skipper and the admiral. Bobstays and chocks! I wish I was your age and got the chance o' going instead o' being always ash.o.r.e here plarntin' the cabbages and pulling up the weeds.”
”Then you don't like being a gardener, Barney?”
”I 'ates it, sir.”
”And so do I hate being a sailor. There!”
”But it's so onnat'ral, sir. Here's your father been a sailor, same as I've been a sailor, and I've drilled up Pan-a-mar o' purpose to be useful to you in the same s.h.i.+p. Why, it's like wasting a season in the garden. I meant him to be your Jack factotum, as the skipper used to call it, and you never heard him say he didn't want to go to sea.”
”You said you'd rope's-end me if I did,” grumbled the red-faced boy.
”And so I will, you young swab,” roared the gardener. ”Why, you onnat'ral young galley-dabber, are you going to turn up your ugly pig's nose at your father's purfession?”
”Pan doesn't like the sea any more than I do,” cried Sydney; ”and I say it's a shame to force boys to be what they don't like.”
”Well, this beats all,” cried the gardener, helping himself to a fresh piece of tobacco. ”What the world's coming to next, I dunnow. Why, if the King, bless him! know'd o' this, it would break his heart.”
”Syd! Ahoy there!” came from the dining-room window.
”Aho--”
Sydney was about to reply with a hearty sea-going _Ahoy_! but he altered his mind and cried--
”Yes, father; I'm coming.”
This was followed by a savage slap on the leg given by the ex-boatswain, who had settled down with his master the captain at The Heronry, Southbayton.
”Just like a loblolly boy,” he growled. ”You, Pan, if you was to answer a hail like that I'd--Stop; come here.”
”Yes, father, I'm coming,” said the red-faced boy, with a grin; and then he dodged while the old boatswain made a blow at his head with open hand.
”Here, I'll speak to the skipper at once about you, youngster. Doing the knives and boots and helping over the weeds is spyling your morals.”
”Speak--what about, father?”
”Speak? What about? Why, you swab, do you think I had you chrissen Pan-a-mar, arter a glorious naval victory, o' purpose to have you grow up into a 'long-sh.o.r.e lubber? There, get indoors. 'Fore you're many hours older I'll have you afloat.”
Pan went slowly up to the house, followed by his father, who walked along the gravel path with his legs wide apart, as if he expected the ground to heave up; while Sydney went round to the front of the house, and entered by the dining-room window, where his father, uncle, and the doctor were still seated at the table.
”Why, Syd, lad, we did not see you go,” said his father; ”come and sit down.”
The boy obeyed, looking furtively from one to the other, as if he knew instinctively that something particular was coming.
”Ahem!” The admiral gave vent to a tremendous forced cough.
<script>