Syd Belton Part 38

"What a poor miserable beggar!" he said, as if talking to himself.

"Talk about the sailor's sick parrot. Ha, ha, ha!"

A faint tinge of colour began to dawn in Syd's face. "Well," said Terry; "what are you staring at?"

Syd made no reply, only kept his eyes fixed on his enemy, and panted slightly.

"Hadn't you better go and ask your father to put you ash.o.r.e somewhere, miss?" sneered Terry. "You ought to be sent home in a Bath chair."

Syd made no reply, and Terry, who under his a.s.sumed nonchalant sneering aspect was simmering with rage at the sight of his conqueror, went on glorying in the chance to trample on a fallen enemy, and trying to work him up to do something which would give him an excuse for delivering a blow.

"_I_ can't think what officers are about to bring such miserable sickly objects on board the King's ships to upset and annoy everybody with their miserable long-sh.o.r.e ways. It's a scandal to the service."

Still Syd made no answer, and emboldened by the silence Terry went on.

"If I had my way I'd just take every contemptible sick monkey who laid up, haul him on deck, make fast a rope to his ankle, and souse him overboard a few times. That would cure them."

Syd closed his eyes, for he was giddy; but his breast rose and fell as if he were suffering from some emotion.

"Filling the ship up with a pack of swabs who, because they are sons of captains, are indulged and nursed, and the whole place is turned into a hospital. Why don't you go into the cabin?"

"Because I don't choose," cried Syd, suddenly starting up with his face flushing, his eyes bright, and the pa.s.sion that was in him sending the blood coursing through his veins.

Terry started back in astonishment.

"I'm not going into the cabin, because I am going to stop here in the midshipmen's berth to teach the bully of the mess how to behave himself like a gentleman."

"What?"

"And not like the domineering cur and coward he is."

"Coward?"

"Yes, to come and talk to me like this; you know I'm weak and ill."

"What? Why, you miserable contemptible cub, say another word and I'll rub your nose on the planks till you beg my pardon."

"Another word, and a dozen other words, Bully Terry. Touch me, coward!

I can't help myself now; but if you lay a finger on me, I'll get well and give you such a thrashing as the last shall be like nothing to it.

You've got one of my marks still on your ugly nose. Now, touch me if you dare."

"Why, hullo, Master Syd; that you?" said Barney, in his loudest voice, as he entered the place with a basin full of some steaming compound.

"Ha--ha--ha!" laughed Terry. "Here's the nurse come with the baby's pap. Did you put some sugar in it, old woman?"

"Nay, sir; no sugar," said Barney, touching his hat; "but there's plenty of good solid beef-stock in it, the cook says; stuff as 'll rouse up Mr Belton's muscles, and make 'em 'tiff as hemp-rope. Like to try 'em again in a fortnight's time?"

"You insolent scoundrel! how dare you! Do you forget that you are speaking to your officer?"

"No, sir. Beg pardon, sir."

"It is not granted. Leave this place, sir, and go on deck."

"Don't do anything of the kind, Strake," cried Syd, who was calming down. "You are waiting on me."

"Do you hear me, sir?" roared Terry again.

"I can," said Syd, coolly, "and a wretchedly unpleasant voice it is. Go and bray somewhere else, donkey. Let's see, it was the a.s.s that tried to kick the sick--"

"Lion," interrupted Terry, with a sneer. "Are you a sick lion?"

"It would be precious vain to say yes," said Syd; "but I'll own to being the sick lion if you'll own to being the beast who hoisted his heels."

"Bah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Terry, and he turned and stalked out of the place.

"Felt as if I should have liked to go at him again," cried Syd, fiercely.

Barney winked to himself.

"He'll give me one for that, sir. Now then, just you try a spoonful o'

this; 'tain't too hot. Not a nyste sort o' young gen'leman, is he?"

"No, Barney," said Syd, taking the spoon.

"His pap was a bit sour p'raps when he was young, eh, Master Syd?"

"An overbearing bully!" cried Syd. "Only wait till I get strong again."

"And then you'll give it to him again, sir?"

"I don't want to quarrel or fight with anybody," said Syd, speaking quickly and excitedly, between the spoonfuls of strong soup he was swallowing.

"Course you don't, sir; you never was a quarrelsome young gent."

"But he is beyond bearing."

"That's true, sir; so he is. Only I mustn't say so. Lor', how I have seen young gents fight afore now; but when it's been all over, they've shook hands as if they'd found out who was strongest, and there's been an end on it."

"Yes, Barney."

"But this young gen'leman, sir, don't seem to take his beating kindly.

Hauls down his colours, and you sends your orficer aboard to take possession--puts, as you may say, your right hand in, but he wouldn't take it."

"No, Barney," said Syd, as the bo'sun winked again to himself, "he wouldn't shake hands."

"No, sir; he wouldn't. I see it all, and thought I ought to stop it, but I knowed from the first you'd lick him; and it strikes me werry hard, Mr Syd, sir, that you'll have to do all that there bit o' work over again."

"But I'm weak now, and he may lick me, Barney," said Syd, who was making a peculiar noise now with the spoon he held--a noise which sounded like the word _soup_.