“Yes, that’s it. Come down and take off your jacket.”
“Not to fight,” said the lad bitterly. “Oh, Franky! And after you had just saved my life! I must have been half mad, old chap.”
“Bah! Drop it, Dick,” said Murray quietly. “You come down, and turn into your berth.”
“Yes; for a good nap.”
“That’s right, old chap. Have a good snooze if you can; but don’t mind if you can’t get to sleep. I’ll open the port-hole as wide as possible so as to get as much cool air as I can into the place. All you want is rest. You don’t want the doctor.”
“No; that’s right; I don’t want the doctor.” And then, eagerly taking his companion’s arm, the lad permitted himself to be led below, where he threw off his jacket and turned into his cot with a sigh of relief.
“Ah,” he said, “that’s better! Never mind me now. Go up on deck, and if any one asks about me say I’m having a sleep after the ducking.”
“All right,” replied Murray, and he saw in the semi-darkness that the middy had closed his eyes tightly but seemed to have to make an effort to keep the quivering and twitching lids still.
“I say, Franky,” came from the cot, after a short pause.
“Well?”