Derek’s cuts from the giant band shells were many but not deep ones. Biff and his uncle cleaned the cuts, treated them with a disinfectant, and put Derek to bed.
The Dutch boy was not seriously wounded, but he was suffering from shock. The thing to do, Biff knew, was to keep him warm and quiet. Charlie Keene gave Derek half a sleeping tablet, and the boy finally dozed off.
“What a day! Two narrow escapes. We should never have gone back,” Charles Keene said. “You didn’t tell me there were clam and conch shells in that bed.”
“Didn’t know they were dangerous,” Biff replied.
“And just to see if we could find some black pearls,” his uncle commented.
“Let’s open the oysters we dug,” Biff suggested. “Derek seems to be all right.”
An hour later, Biff came back to the tent. Derek stirred restlessly in his sleep. Biff lighted a lamp Derek suddenly sat upright. Biff went to his side.
“You all right, Derek?” Biff asked.
“I—I guess so. I was dreaming. But—” Derek touched a bandaged cut gingerly. “Sure, I’m all right.”
“This may make you feel even better.”