Chapter Seven.
It was not long after that Phil was between decks, talking to his new friend, the crippled boy, whose face always expanded into a grin of satisfaction when his nurse appeared.
“Here, I wanted you,” he cried. “I’ve got some news. The doctor told me—”
“Did he say that you might soon try to walk?” cried Phil, eagerly.
“No; he said that my leg was going on well, but I was not to try to use it for a long time yet. He told me that we are going to have a big fight with the French. Isn’t it a bother? For I sha’n’t be able to go to my gun.”
“Jack Jeens said he didn’t think we should have a fight,” replied Phil.
“He doesn’t know anything about it,” said the lame boy, impatiently. “But I say, I shall be obliged to stop below; you might come and stop with me.”
“Jack said I should be sent below if there was a fight, so I will.”
“That’s right,” said the boy, with a sigh of relief. “I didn’t want for you to see it and me stop below.”
Phil looked at him in rather a puzzled way, for he did not know whether he was disappointed or pleased—whether he would like to see the battle or prefer to go below.