“Wust storm I was ever in, sir, and if it don’t soon lull goodness knows what will happen next.”
“Indeed?” said the doctor. “But go now. Quietness is everything for my patient now.”
“Well, I’m blest,” said the man to himself; “it’s like talking to anyone in his sleep. Quietness, eh? Hang it! I didn’t make half so much noise as the wind. He’s thinking of that poor lad and of nothing else.”
It was so all through the night, the doctor hardly noticing the refreshments brought in by the white-faced steward, who tried to get up a conversation, but with very little success. “Terrible storm, sir.”
“Yes,” said the doctor.
“Bad for poor young Mr Cranford, aren’t it, sir?”
“Very bad.”
“Lot of the passengers ill, sir, and asking for you, sir.”
“Sea-sick?” said, the doctor, with a momentary display of interest. “Awful, sir.”
“I could do nothing for them, and I cannot leave my patient,” said the doctor, slowly.