“If you don’t soon come and see him.”
“I only wish I could,” said Mark, and he made an effort to rise, but sank back with a piteous look of misery in his face, which made Bob seize his hand.
“Here, I say,” he cried cheerily. “Oh! Don’t look like that. You’re only a bit weak, messmate. Avast there! take a good grip o’ the health tack; haul in your slack, and ahoy! you’ll be full sail again in a week. I say, what do you think of that? I’m getting on with my nautical lingo, ain’t I?”
Mark smiled feebly—just a wan, sickly smile, like a bit of sunshine on a wintry day.
“Avast there! none of your grinning,” cried Bob. “Better than you could do it, old chap. That’s your sort. Cheer up. I must be off now. I’ll come back and talk to you as soon as I can, and if you behave yourself I’ll sing you a song.”
There was a genuine smile on Mark Vandean’s face now, as he heard these words delivered with utmost seriousness.
“No, no, don’t, Bob,” he said, feebly. “I am getting better, really, now. Don’t do that. It would be more than I could stand.”
Bob Howlett uttered a peculiar sound, half-angry cry, half growl, caught up his cap, and marched out, as if in high dudgeon, while Mark lay back, staring at the open port-hole, through which came the warm glowing light of the tropic sunshine.
“Poor old Bob!” he muttered; “he thinks he can sing, and of all the dreadful noises ever made.—Ha, ha, ha!”
He laughed merrily at the recollection of some of his messmate’s vocal efforts, and his face was lit up as if with inward sunshine, till he heard a voice and looked round in wonder, to see that Captain Maitland, Mr Staples, and the doctor were at the doorway watching him.