“When do you think the frigate will be back?”
“Can’t say, sir. Not so long as the wind’s blowing like this.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Syd; “so unfortunate. Just as we want the surgeon so badly.”
“What for, sir?”
“Mr Dallas, of course.”
“Surgeon? What do he want with a surgeon? You mended him a deal better than I’ve seen poor chaps patched in the cockpit during an action, when the surgeon and his mates was busy. Look ye here, Master Syd, I’ve knowed you ever since you was a bit of a toddlin’ thing as held on to my finger—this here one—and couldn’t get your little dumpy things right round it; and you know me, sir, I wouldn’t say a word to praise you as I didn’t mean.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Strake.”
“Then you may know, sir; I wouldn’t—theer! And I says to you now as a honest man as never took nothin’ worse than one o’ them yaller gummy plums off the wall—them as crack right open like wide mouths, and seems to be putting out their stones at you laughin’ like, and sayin’, eat me if you dare. Well, sir, I say as a honest man, if ever I’m wounded I don’t want no surgeon but you.”
“Oh, nonsense, man! There’ll be a long serious time yet when he wants the surgeon’s attention.”
“Not him, sir. No: we’ll do all that.”