“Whisht, and be quiet, young feller-me-lad!” he rumbled. “It was no dream ye had about the poison smoke. Ye’re still sick from it, so take it easy. Your mate, the redheaded lieutenant, is sleepin’ in the next berth to ye.”
“I am not, Don!” croaked Red Pennington, trying to sit up. “I was lying low so as not to wake you! Oh-h-h! Golly! Does my head hurt!”
“It will be worse if you don’t lie down, Pennington!” snapped the medical officer. “If you and Commander Winslow didn’t have leather lungs and cast iron constitutions, we’d be sewing you up in canvas right now, for a sea burial. You two got the biggest dose of smoke!”
“But Mercedes—I mean, Miss Colby—she must have been gassed too!” cried Don Winslow, from the other berth. “Is she coming out of it yet, Doctor? Tell me the truth....”
“Hush, lad!” soothed Splendor, pushing the young officer back onto his pillow. “Miss Colby’s out of danger, so don’t excite yourself. We got Yanos and the two fishermen in time, too, along with the launch’s crew. Ye’ll hear all the details tomorrow, when you’re feelin’ stronger. The doctor and I will be leavin’ ye now.”
“But—the underground base!” muttered Don weakly, pressing a hand to his aching eyes. “About that apparatus, and the automatic weather map—Tell me, Splendor....”
“We’ll talk about that another time,” said the man in the wheel chair. “There’s nothing to worry about, except the strength ye’re wastin’ this minute, Commander. So pipe down and give your thoughts a rest till ye’re called on deck. The same goes for you, Pennington, d’ye hear?”
“Aye-aye, sir!” came the redhead’s mumbled response, as the cabin door closed softly behind the visitors.
III
HIGH EXPLOSIVE
Dawn had just broken the following day when Don Winslow sat up on the edge of his berth. There was a light of determination in his eye, and a fighting set to his unshaven jaw.