“Eh? What makes you think that, lad? Does he begin to mope for his liberty?”
“I dare say he does, dad. It’s only natural; but that isn’t what I meant. What I thought was that though he seemed rather nice at first, he keeps on growing more and more disagreeable. He treats me sometimes just as if I were a dog.”
“Well, you always were a precious young puppy, Poole,” said the skipper, with a twinkle of the eye.—“Ah! No impudence now! If you dare to say that it’s no wonder when I am such a rough old sea-dog, I’ll throw something at you.”
“Then it won’t be thrown,” said the lad, laughing. “But really, father, he is so stuck up and consequential sometimes, ordering me about, and satisfied with nothing I do, that it makes me feel peppery and ready to tell him that if he isn’t satisfied he’d better do the things himself.”
“Bah! Don’t take any notice of him, boy. It’s all a good sign, and means he’s getting well fast.”
“Well, it’s not a very pleasant way of showing it, father.”
“No, my boy, no; but we can’t very well alter what is. Fellows who have been ill, and wounded men when they are taking a right turn, are weak, irritable, and dissatisfied. I think you’ll find him all right by and by. Take it all calmly. He’s got something to suffer, poor fellow, both mentally and from that hurt upon his head. Well, I’ll go back on deck. I did come down to examine and dress his sconce again, but I’ll leave that till another time.”
He had hardly spoken before Fitz opened his eyes with a start, saw who was present, and turned pettishly away.
“Oh, it’s you, doctor, is it?” he said. “I wish you wouldn’t be always coming in here and bothering and waking me up. What do you want now?”
“I was only coming to bathe and re-plaster your head, squire,” replied the bluff skipper good-humouredly.