The young doctor turned with a shake of his head.
“He’s in pretty bad shape, Mr. Splendor,” he said wearily. “The others are coming around surprisingly well, though. Even the girl, Miss Colby. I expect Commander Winslow and Lieutenant Pennington will regain consciousness this evening.”
“That’s just fine, Doctor!” exclaimed Splendor heartily. “Do ye mind if I go along when next ye look in on ’em. Even with me crippled legs, I promise not to be in the way.”
“Come along, of course, Mr. Splendor,” smiled the medical officer, opening the door. “If you and your seaplane had been OUT of the way this morning, none of these men would be alive now. You’re pretty much of a hero on this ship, whether you know it or not!”
“You mean my pilot, Panama!” growled the big man, rolling his chair along the steel deck. “It was him who did the rescuing, while I sat helpless in me cockpit.... Ah! So this is the cabin where ye put Don Winslow and his redheaded mate, eh?”
With a nod, the doctor threw open the cabin door.
“They seem to be still asleep, both of them,” he murmured, glancing across the narrow room. “Here! I’ll help you with that chair, if you’d like to come in.”
Low pitched as they were, the words registered on Don Winslow’s slumbering senses. He stirred, opened his eyes, and struggled up on one elbow.
“Michael Splendor!” he exclaimed huskily. “I dreamed about you, and a seaplane, and a cloud of poison smoke and.... Say! Where are we, anyhow? And what am I doing in this cabin?”
Rolling his chair swiftly to the side of the berth, Michael Splendor held up a big hand.