“Humph!” cried the captain; “not much cause for anxiety here.”
“No,” said the first lieutenant: “he’s what the men call miching. Here, Vandean, when are you coming on deck? Can’t have you lying here with half a dozen people to wait upon you.”
“I don’t want to, sir,” said Mark, in a piping voice. “Mr Whitney knows.”
“Yes, I know,” said the doctor. “There,” he continued, turning to the two officers; “you don’t think much of your doctor, but what do you say to that?”
He patted Mark’s head as he spoke.
“I believe half the surgeons in the navy would have let the poor fellows slip through their fingers. I saved them all when they were in the most hopeless state.”
“Not all,” said Mr Staples, with a sharp look at the captain. “What about the poor niggers?”
“Well, I saved two of them, sir. The others were as good as dead when you called me to them. Humph! did my part better than you did yours. Why didn’t you take the schooner?”
The captain laughed.
“He has us there, Staples,” he said. “Let the doctors alone; they are a bad set of people to play with. Only serve you out when you come into their hands. Don’t take any notice of him, Whitney. Well, Vandean, I’m very glad to see you so cheerful, but don’t presume upon it. You must take it quietly, and be patient. I want to see you on deck again.”