“I’ll complain to the owners myself, if the captain doesn’t take it up. It’s too bad. Oh, do make haste—the doctor—the doctor—I’m dying.” Then with a good deal of energy he cried, “Why, you’re laughing.”
“Of course I am,” I said, giving way now to my mirth. “Why, you’re only a bit sea-sick.”
“I’m not,” he snapped out; “I’m poisoned by that bad meat we had. Oh, the doctor, the doctor!”
“You’re not,” I said. “It’s only sea-sickness. Why, I should have thought you could stand it.”
“Oh, help—help!”
“Hush, don’t make that noise!” I cried.
“Then fetch the doctor, oh, pray, pray!”
I hesitated no longer, but hurried out, and one of the first I encountered on deck was the bluff-looking sailor, whom my companion had snubbed.
“Look here,” I cried quickly, “Mr Walters is very ill. Where’s the doctor’s cabin?”
Just then the ship made a lurch, and so did I, but by giving a kind of hop and jump and getting my legs apart, I preserved my balance.