"Black—what?"
"You heard. He's a funny little cuss; like you, a trifle puny. Has coughin' fits. Coughs six times each fit. Spits up a chunk o' lead ev'y time he coughs. Want to see him?"
Lucian's unaffrighted eyes blazed down, though his reply was as if to himself. "Great God! if my brother——"
"Oh," kindly said the Californian, "he ain't fur off. Go, get him. I'll follow you, lock-step."
Lucian turned and went, the speaker adding as he followed close:
"Ladder's no place for scienced fighting, you know."
They found Julian, evidently waiting, on the passenger guards just forward of the pantry gangway. But before words could be exchanged the cub pilot came along by way of the main staircase, escorting the physician from the lower deck. The latter passed on up the wheel-house steps to the roof, but the "cub" hung back. "California" faced him.
"What's the fraction? The captain?"
The youth nodded. His inquirer waved him away.
"All right. I'll come. You go on." The boy complied.