“I should keep the straw hat for when we get down into the hot parts, sir,” I said.
“To be sure; so I will. Do you know, that wash seems to have done me a lot of good, Mr Dale. I really think I feel better.”
“Then you’ll be all right now, sir. I should get the steward to give me a basin of soup.”
He shuddered, and gave me a look of horror.
“I couldn’t touch it,” he whispered. “Don’t ask me. Not now.”
“Wait till you’ve been on deck a bit, sir.”
“Yes, yes,” he said, excitedly; and after another look in the glass he told me he was ready, and we went out to go on deck: but he declined to go up the steps to where the captain would be with the other passengers, and said he would go forward to have a look at the fish; but before he had gone many steps, he altered his mind.
“I do feel better, Mr Dale,” he said, with a half-laugh, “and I think I will go up and pay my respects to the captain and—and the other passengers,” and then, talking eagerly to me about his fish, and carefully preserving his balance, we went up on the poop-deck, with the ship gliding along swiftly and more easily.
The captain saw us, and came to meet him along with Mr Brymer, the first mate, and both shook hands warmly.
“Glad, to see you on deck, sir. There, you’ve got over your bit of trouble. It was rather a rough beginning.”