“Every word, sir.”
“And do you know that we were talking about Mr Denning?” said the mate.
“No; you were talking about the captain.”
They were silent for a few moments, and then Mr Frewen spoke.
“Look here, Dale,” he said, “this is a delicate matter. You have seen that Captain Berriman is ill?”
“I thought he was very strange, and a bit cross sometimes.”
“Far worse than that. Look here, Dale, if you go chattering about what you have heard,” said Mr Brymer, “you may make a great deal of mischief.”
“I am not likely to talk about it to anybody unless it be to Mr Denning,” I said, feeling a little hurt.
“Then pray don’t mention it to him. It would only make him and his sister uneasy,” cried Mr Frewen, quickly.
“I’m afraid they’ve seen enough for themselves,” said Mr Brymer. “Look here, youngster, I shall speak plainly to you, because you are a sensible lad. If you spoke about what we have said, and it reached Captain Berriman’s ear now he is in that excitable state, he would immediately think I was conspiring against him, go frantic, and there might be terrible mischief. So don’t say a word, even to your messmate, or he’ll go chattering to that French scoundrel and the rest of the men. By the way, Dale, let me give you a word of advice. I don’t like the way in which young Walters is going on. It is not becoming for a midshipman or apprentice to make friends too readily with the sailors. Don’t you follow his example.”