“No, father,” said the lad addressed, smiling; “not quite.”
“And I shall be disgraced—disgraced!” groaned the midshipman.
“Disgraced! Nonsense! What for? Why, my lad, your captain when he knows all ought to put a big mark against your name; and I have no doubt he will.”
As he spoke he left the cabin without another word, and the silence was just as great within; but it was a busy silence all the same, while Fitz lay back, unable to avoid feeling how cool and pleasant was the touch of the water, and how gentle were his attendant’s hands.
He was still miserable, but there was something very satisfying later on in being propped up with a great locker-cushion and a well-stuffed pillow, feeling the deliciously warm morning air float through the open cabin-window, what time, by the help of the skipper’s son, he partook of a capital breakfast, at first feeling that every mouthful was choking him, then with eager appetite, Poole smiling pleasantly at him all the while.
It was annoying too, for the middy felt that, to use his own term, he ought to hate this “filibustering young ruffian” with all his heart. As for speaking to him unless it were to give him some imperious order, he mentally vowed he would not do that.
But that coffee was newly roasted, and though they were far at sea, the fresh bread-cakes were nice and warm, and the butter not in the slightest degree too salt. Fitz had been long without any food to signify, returning health was giving him the first instalments of a ravenous appetite, and somehow it seems to be one of Nature’s rules that one fasting has his temper all on edge, while when he is satisfied it does not take much to make him smile.
So it was that before the breakfast was over, Fitz Burnett had forgotten his mental vow. Curiosity got the better of him.
“How far are we from land?” he said.
“The nearest?”