“He arn’t ill. Wants a bucket of cold water drawn and soused over him. That’d put him right.”
“You speak when you’re spoken to, Bob Hampton,” said Jarette, with a snarl.
“All right, skipper—cap’n, I mean; all right.”
“Yes, it’s all right,” I said to myself, with a sigh of relief, as I closed my eyes again and lay quite still, listening to what passed.
“Well,” said Jarette, “what are you going to do? Oh, that is some stuff you are going to give him.”
“Yes, you need not wait,” said Mr Frewen, quietly. “But you had better leave me a light.”
“What for? Set the ship on fire?”
“If I wanted to set the ship on fire, I have plenty of matches,” said Mr Frewen.
His imitation of the renegade Frenchman’s pronunciation of the word “ship” was almost involuntary, and he told me afterwards how he regretted making such a slip, for Jarette winced and darted a malignant look at him which was not pleasant to see.
He did not speak again, but stood looking on while Mr Frewen held some water to my lips, and bathed my temples, both of which proceedings were quite needless, for I was quite recovered now from my faintness, and he ended by helping me to lie down in the cot.