“Shall we go out of sight of land altogether?” inquired his lordship.
“Of course we shall, and the sooner the better.” He then explained to the novice that the only danger to a good ship was from the land.
While Tadcaster was digesting this paradox, Captain Hamilton proceeded to descant on the beauties of blue water and its fine medicinal qualities, which, he said, were particularly suited to young gentlemen with bilious stomachs, but presently, catching sight of Lieutenant Fitzroy standing apart, but with the manner of a lieutenant not there by accident, he stopped, and said, civilly but smartly, “Well, sir?”
Fitzroy came forward directly, saluted, and said he had orders from the first lieutenant to show Lord Tadcaster the berths. His lordship must be good enough to choose, because the doctor—couldn't.
“Why not?”
“Brought to, sir—for the present—by—well, by grief.”
“Brought to by grief! Who the deuce is grief? No riddles on the quarter-deck, if you please, sir.”
“Oh no, sir. I assure you he is awfully cut up; and he is having his cry out in my cabin.”
“Having his cry out! why, what for?”
“Leaving his wife, sir.”