Your adopted son, Captain Barker, is at this moment lying in the hold of his Majesty's frigate the _Good Intent_.

He is in irons." "In irons!" "Yes, sir.

He has undoubtedly imbibed your opinions with regard to the Dutch, for he began his military career by blacking the eyes of a gentleman of that nation, who, as ill-luck will have it, is his superior officer." "The devil!" "To-morrow morning he will receive six dozen lashes--perhaps more.
I take the most cheerful view in order to spare your feelings; but most decidedly it will be six dozen, unless--" "Unless--what ?" "Unless I remit the sentence.

The young man, you understand, was placed under my care." "My lord, you will pardon him ?" "With pleasure.

Nay, I will restore him to you this very night--" Captain Barker leapt up from his seat in a transport of gratitude, and would have caught the Earl's hand had not his friend dragged him back by the coat-tails.
"-- On conditions," his lordship concluded.
"Name them." "In a moment.