“Was I so bad as that?” cried Fitz eagerly.
“Yes, horrid. Father and I felt frightened, because it would have been so serious; but there, I won’t say another word. I am going to get you some tea.”
The invalid made an effort to stay him, but the lad paid no heed—hurrying out of the cabin and shutting the door quietly after him, leaving Fitz deep in thought.
He lay with his white face wrinkled up, trying hard, in spite of what had been said, to think out what it all meant, but always with his thoughts tending towards his head rolling round in a mill and getting no farther; in fact, it seemed to be going round again for about the nth time, as mathematicians term it, when the cabin-door once more opened, and his attendant bore in a steaming hot cup of tea, to be closely followed by a bluff-looking, middle-aged man, sun-browned, bright-eyed and alert, dressed in semi-naval costume, and looking like a well-to-do yachtsman.
He smiled pleasantly as he gave a searching look at the invalid, and sat down at once upon a chair close to the lad’s pillow, leaning over to touch his brow and then feel his pulse.
“Bravo!” he said. “Capital!—Humph! So you are thinking I don’t look like a doctor, eh?”
“Yes,” replied Fitz sharply. “How did you know that?”
“Because it is written in big letters all over your face. Why, you are getting quite a new man, and we will have you on deck in a day or two.”
“Thank you,” said Fitz. “It is very good of you to pay so much attention to an invalid. I knew you were not a doctor because your son here said so; but you seem to have done me a great deal of good, and I hope you think I am grateful. I am sure Captain Glossop will be very much obliged.”
“Humph!” said the skipper dryly. “I hope he will. But there, try your tea. I dare say it will do you good.”