Presently he heard groans from the next berth, and a tall soldier came over and looked in.
“What is the matter with you?” he said to the complaining youth lying there.
“I’m sick, I’m going to die!” said a whining voice. “I have been down in the engine-room until I am nearly cooked. I think my back is broken too.”
The listening man laughed.
“Not a bit of it, my boy!” he said. “You are tired out. That is what ails you. You have soft muscles evidently. You will be all right soon.”
“I tell you I am about dead!” insisted the voice.
Zaidos listened, puzzled. There was a familiar sound in the tones, but for the life of him he could not place the speaker.
“I tell you I am in a bad way!” insisted the unseen speaker. “I shall appeal this matter to the King as soon as we land.”
“That’s a good idea,” said a soldier, nodding. “When I came away I left my tobacco pouch in barracks. I will appeal too. It is not to be endured!”
“You don’t understand,” said the fellow. “I am Velo Kupenol, the head of the house of Zaidos. I am a Count!”