“Oh no, Captain Berriman; not at all.”
“That’s right. You know where my cabin is, and don’t you mind me calling you my dear. I’ve got three girls at home as old or older than you, and a son as big as Mr Denning.”
Miss Denning smiled in his face, while I felt as if I wished he would be as fatherly with me.
“Look here,” he continued, with a twinkle of the eye. “I’ve just had a telegram from old Neptune. He says the gale’s pretty well over, and he’s going to give us some fine weather now. He was obliged to blow up a bit because the waves were getting sulky and idle, and the winds were all gone to sleep.”
It did not seem like the same man who was so fierce with the sailor a short time before.
“And look here, Mr Denning,” he continued, turning back after taking a few steps toward the man at the wheel; “you’re quite right, sir; pitch the doctor overboard, and I’ll prescribe for you. I’ve got a bottle or two of prime port wine and burgundy on board,—you understand? And as soon as the weather mends you must try some fishing; I dare say I can fit you up, and young Dale here will lend a hand.”
“Oh yes,” I said eagerly.
“And don’t know anything about it, eh?”
I stared at him in surprise.
“Why, I’ve fished at sea hundreds of times, sir,” I said. “Whiffing, long line, trot, and bulter; and we used to go out to the rocks off Falmouth to set small trammels.”