“Well, I was a fool to worry myself about a chap like that. Why, he doesn’t feel it a bit.”
But Poole Reed was not a good judge of human nature. He could not see the hard fight that was going on behind that eager face, nor how the well-trained boy had called upon his pride to carry him through this struggle with his fate.
Poole thought no more of his patient’s condition, but hurried to the boatswain, who scowled at him fiercely.
“What!” he said. “Fishing-lines? Can’t you find nothing else to do, young fellow, on board this ’ere craft, besides fishing?”
“No; there is nothing to do now.”
“Wha-a-at!”
“You know I spoke about them before. It is to amuse the sick middy.”
“Yah!” came in a deep growl. “Why didn’t you say so before? Poor boy! He did get it hot that time.”
“Yes,” said Poole maliciously, “and I believe it was you who knocked him down.”
The grim-looking, red-faced boatswain stared at the speaker with his mouth wide open.