The rapidly increasing northeast storm, that meant so little to Hal Briggs, thoroughly drenched and chilled the old captain long before he reached home.
By the time he had navigated back to Snug Haven, he was wet to the bone, and was shivering with the drive of the gale now piling gray lines of breakers along the shore. Dr. Filhiol, his face very hard, met the old captain at the front door; while Ezra—silent, dejected, with acute misery and fear—took the ancient horse away up the puddled lane.
“This is outrageous, captain!” the doctor expostulated. “The idea of your exposing yourself this way at your age!”
“Where’s Hal?” shivered the captain. “I’ve got to see Hal! G-g-got to tell him all his debts are paid, and he’s a free man again!”
“You’re hoarse as a frog, sir; you’ve got a thundering cold!” chided the doctor. “I order you to bed, sir, where I’ll give you a stiff glass of whisky and lemon, and sweat you properly.”
“Nonsense!” chattered the captain. “I’ll j-j-just change my clothes, and sit by the fire, and I’ll be all r-r-right. Where’s Hal? I want Hal!”
“Hal? How do I know?” demanded Filhiol. “He’s gone. Where’s he bound for? No good, I’ll warrant, in this storm. It shows how much he cares, what you do for him, the way he—”
“By the Judas priest, sir!” interrupted Briggs. “I’m not going to have anything said against Hal, now he’s free. I know you’re my guest, doctor, but don’t drive me too far!”
“Well, I’ll say no more. But now, into your bunk! There’s no argument about that, anyhow. Bathrobe and hot water-bottle now, and a good tot of rum!”
The captain had to yield. A quarter-hour later the doctor had him safely tucked into his berth in the cabin, with whisky and lemon aboard him. “There, that’s better,” approved Filhiol. “You’ll do now, unless you get up, and take another chill. I want you to stay right there till to-morrow at the very least. Understand me? Now, I prescribe a nap for you. And a good sweat, and by to-morrow you’ll be fine as silk.”