Then and then only did Fitz’s face go down upon his hands, while a low groan of misery escaped his lips.
Chapter Twelve.
Making friends.
“Well, what is it?” said the skipper gruffly, as his son followed him on deck and touched him on the arm.
“Don’t you think it possible, father, that—”
“That I could turn aside from what I have got to do, boy? No, I don’t.”
“But he’s ill and weak, father.”
“Of course he is, and he’s getting better as fast as he can. What’s more, he’s a boy—in the depth of despair now, and in half-an-hour’s time he’ll be himself again, and ready to forget his trouble.”