“Well done, youngster,” cried the man. “You’ve been at sea before.”
“Yes, often,” I replied, “but where’s the doctor?”
“I’ll show you, sir. Number three’s his cabin. Next but two to the skipper’s. But your messmate’s only got the Channel chump, has he?”
“I think he’s only sea-sick, but he says it was the meat last night.”
“Clck!”
It was a curious sound that one cannot spell any nearer, partly laugh, partly cry of derision.
“That’s what they all says, sir,” he continued. “Sea-sick, sure as my name’s Bob Hampton.” As he spoke he had descended with me, and ended by pointing out number three.
“There you are, sir; two rollers at night, and a shake the bottle in the morning. That’s Mr Frewen’s cabin; I must get back on deck.”
The next minute I was knocking at the doctor’s door.
“Hullo!” came instantly.