“You’re not gone on deck.”
“No, not yet. Come, off you go. Like a glass of water?”
“No! No water.”
“Well, what is it?”
“I only wanted to say something, Frank,” whispered the poor fellow, in a faltering voice.
“Better not, old chap. You want rest, and not to bother your brain with talking.”
“Thank you, doctor,” said the lad, with a faint smile. “Why, you’re ever so much better than old Reston. Yes, I want sleep, for my head seems to be all of a buzz; but I must say something before I can get off.”
“Well, then, look sharp and say it. Well, what is it?”
“Only this, Franky, old fellow—”
“Well, what is it?” said Murray, after the pause which followed the last words. “There, let it go; I’m sure it will keep.”