“Oh, never mind about that, Strake; there’s so much else to think about. I’ve been in twice to Mr Dallas, and he doesn’t know me.”
“Dessay not, sir. Lost a deal of blood, you see. He’s all right, I’m sure. Why, I’ve seen lots o’ men worse than he, ever so much; legs off, both on ’em, an’ an arm took off fust by a shot and then afterwards by the doctors, and they’ve come round.”
“But, Strake—”
“Now, look here, dear lad,” whispered the boatswain, speaking earnestly. “I wouldn’t say what I do if I didn’t think it. Mr Dallas is going to be purty bad, I dessay, for a month, but he’ll come round.”
“But I feel, Strake, as if I have done wrong by him.”
“Nat’rally, dear lad; but I feel that you haven’t.”
“If I could only think that.”
“Oh, well then, I’ll soon make you. Let me ask you a question, sir. S’pose you hadn’t touched Mr Dallas?”
“Well?”
“Nobody else would, of course. We didn’t know how.”