“One minute, Captain Follenbee,” said Sheffield, “How are you, Mark?”
Mark’s eyes fell and his words were muffled. “All right, Dr. Sheffield.”
“I wasn’t aware you’d gotten out of bed.”
There wasn’t the shade of reproach in his voice, but Mark grew apologetic. “I was feeling better, Dr. Sheffield, and I feel bad about not working. I haven’t done anything in all the time I’ve been on the ship. So I put in a call to the captain to ask to see the log book and he had me come up here.”
“All right. I’m sure he won’t mind if you go back to your room now.”
“Oh, won’t I?” began the captain. Sheffield’s mild eyes rose to meet the captain. “I’m responsible for him, sir.”
And somehow the captain could think of nothing further to say.
Mark turned obediently and Sheffield watched him leave and waited till the door was well-closed behind him.
Then he turned again to the captain. “What’s the bloody idea, captain?”
The captain’s knees bent a little, then straightened and bent again with a sort of threatening rhythm. The invisible slap of his hands, clasped behind his back could be heard distinctly. “That’s my question. I’m captain here, Sheffield.”