“Do they?” said Mark sharply.
“Well, perhaps it arn’t that, sir, but that’s what I feel.”
“But look here,” cried Mark; “aren’t they civil to you? Because we are not going to stand that; are we, Dean?”
“Certainly not.”
“Beg pardon, sir; please don’t you go a-thinking that I’m a-finding fault.”
“You look here,” said Mark. “If they—”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, sir,” said the man. “You see, it’s like this; you picked me up, quite a stranger, and it’s quite nat’ral that they shouldn’t like a chap on the sick list stuck along with them all at once.”
“It’s no business of theirs,” said Mark shortly. “They have come out here with us to do their duty; and just now it’s their duty to do what’s right by you, and if my father or the doctor knew that—what?”
“Well, sir, I daresay I’m wrong, but I’ve got it into my head that one of them feels a bit jealous like that I’m going to step into his shoes and that he’ll be dismissed his ship.”
“Pshaw!” ejaculated Mark angrily. “He has no right to think anything of the kind. You three have got to work together and be like messmates, as you sailors call it.”