“Why, you’re ever so much better,” I said quickly, “or you wouldn’t joke like that.”
“Yes,” he said with a sigh, “I feel better. Mr Frewen’s doing me good, or else it’s this lovely soft, warm air.”
“Oh, we shall have him running ashore in New Zealand like a stag, Miss Denning,” I cried, getting up.
“Don’t go yet,” she said.
“I must,” I cried. “I want to stop, but Mr Brymer uses me now as his tongue and fists. I have to give all his orders to the men.”
I went to where the mate was seated, received his orders, had them executed, and then met Mr Frewen coming out of Walters’ cabin.
“Oh, there you are, Dale,” he cried. “Go in and talk to that poor wretch for a few minutes. You must try and cheer him up, or he’ll die, as sure as I’m here.”
“Oh, I say, don’t tell me that,” I cried. “I don’t like him, and I think he behaved horridly, but I don’t want him to die.”
I hurried into my messmate’s cabin, and found him lying there so ghastly and strange-looking that I shivered, and began to move on tip-toe.
“Come and sit down a minute, Dale,” he said in a weak voice; and I at once seated myself close to his bunk.