“Yes, that’s better. Now make haste and set out the men.”
Poole arranged the pieces, and Fitz sat up again.
“Here, what have you been doing?” he cried. “You have given me two more.”
“Well,” said the skipper’s son, smiling, “it’ll make us more equal.”
“Don’t you holloa till you’re out of the wood,” cried Fitz haughtily, and he flicked the two extra pieces off the board. “Do you think I’m going to let you beat me? My head’s clearer now. I think I know how to play a game of draughts.”
The sick boy thought so, but again his adversary proved far stronger, winning easily; and the middy dropped back on the pillow.
“It isn’t fair,” he cried.
“Not fair.”
“You didn’t tell me you could play as well as that.”
“Of course not. I wasn’t going to brag about my playing. Let’s have another game. I think we’re about equal.”