“Bad—sore—aches.”
“Let me look.”
Syd submitted himself unwillingly.
“Only wants a bathe, and a bit of plaister. I’ll see to that.”
The dressing was finished, the hammocks rolled up, and Syd was wondering how long breakfast would be, and what they should have. Terry, who was strolling about the place watching him furtively, suddenly stood aside, the others watching him.
At that moment Roylance came down into his berth with a pair of scissors and some sticking-plaister.
“Here you are,” he said. “I’ll just cut a little of the hair away, and put a bit of this on. It won’t show under your hat.”
“All right,” said Syd, sitting down in the middle of the place on the top of his sea-chest; “but you needn’t have fetched that. I had some in here.”
“Do for next time,” said Roylance, cutting off a large piece of plaister.
“Oh, nonsense,” said Syd, laughing; “a quarter of that would do. I could do it myself if I could see.”