“Yes, sir.”
“Then do as I say, Steve. Come, like a man.”
“I can’t now.”
“There you go again, repeating this obstinate can’t, can’t, can’t, when all the time you can.”
“But tell me this, sir. Supposing—”
“Look here, boy, am I your doctor, or am I not?”
“No, sir, I haven’t been ill,” said Steve drily.
“You’re ill now. Your nerves are all jarred, your head’s in an unwonted state of excitement, and your pulse is going—though I have not felt it—far above its normal rate. You are ill, sir, bodily and mentally, in a regular peevish state of excitement; and as your doctor, speaking perfectly honestly and straightforwardly, I say to you that the medicine you require is mental; that you have only to go to the captain and have a few words based on my advice, and you will be well again directly.”
“I’m not ill,” said Steve coldly.
“You are, sir; and mental illness is worse than an ordinary bodily ailment. Now, will you go?”