“Hurrah!” cried Strake, and then screwing up his face—“My word! that’s bad. You’re all right, Pan-y-mar. There won’t be no rope’s-end for you this week.”
“No,” said Syd, merrily, “I think he’s safe for quite that time.”
“And when may I move, doctor?” said Mr Dallas, smiling.
“As soon as you can bear it, sir, I’ll have you got out in the morning to lie in the shade and get the fresh sea-breeze before it grows hot.”
“Ah! thank you, my lad,” he said, with a longing look. “I’m beginning to think I would as soon have been a surgeon as what I am.”
Syd started and coloured up, as he wondered whether the lieutenant knew anything about his life at home.
Chapter Thirty Nine.
The same reply always from the look-out man by the flagstaff; no ship in sight, and the town of Saint Jacques slumbering in the sun. But there was so much to do that Syd and Roylance could spare very little time for thinking.