The doctor shrugged his shoulders and went below, to come back at the end of five minutes.
“Well?” said Sir John anxiously.
“Usual thing; nothing to fidget about. Your man’s worse.”
“What, Edward?” cried Sir John, staring. “I saw him forward there chatting with the sailors not long ago.”
“Yes, and now he’s in his berth talking to himself about what a donkey he was to come. Who knows! perhaps it will be our turn next.”
But it was not, although it began to blow hard from the west, and the sea crew rougher as the yacht dashed on.
But the next evening Edward was about again, looking rather pale, but very proud and self-satisfied, as he went to Jack’s berth.
“Don’t you feel any better yet, sir?” he said.
“No; can’t you see how ill I am?” replied Jack faintly.
“Ah, that’s because you don’t try to master it. Hasn’t Doctor Instow told you that you ought to try and get the better of it?”