“You go down and tell him that if he is not up on deck in a quarter of an hour, I’ll send two of the men down to fetch him.”
“Yes, sir,” and I went and delivered my message to the poor, miserable-looking, yellow-faced fellow, as he lay with his face screwed up, only half seen in his bunk.
“I don’t care. Let him send if he dares. I can’t get up. I’ll complain to the owners. It’s a cruel shame, and it’s a wonder I haven’t died, left neglected down here.”
“That you haven’t been,” I cried; “why, I’ve regularly nursed you, and the steward couldn’t have been kinder.”
“Who said he could?” cried Walters, with plenty of animation now. “But where’s the doctor? What’s a doctor carried on a ship for if he isn’t to attend to the sick people?”
“Oh, but you’re not sick,” I said.
“What?” he cried fiercely.
“Well, not now,” I replied, laughing. “Of course you were, but you’re only qualmy now. Here, this place does smell stuffy. I’ll open the window.”
“That you won’t; I don’t want to catch a bad cold. Wish I hadn’t come to sea in such a miserable ship.”
“Nonsense. Get up and dress.”