The doctor made some reply, which was hardly heard amid the exclamations of accord in the captain’s speech, which uprose from all round the table.
A rough old sea-dog of a doctor he was, too, a thorough sailor. Any one could have seen that at a glance. Rough he was, yet kindly-hearted, and there was not a man on board, from the captain to the Kroo boy who helped the cook, who wouldn’t have risked his life for their surgeon.
I leave you to guess whether or not justice was done to that Christmas plum-pudding. Indeed, I only wish you could have seen the happy smiling faces that now surrounded the table, and really—though it was not polite of them—several of the crew had no less than three helps, for “Cut and come again” was the captain’s motto on this Christmas Day in the Doldrums.
Well, of course songs and yarns followed dinner. The captain told a story, Archie told a story, Kenneth sang and played, the old bo’sun called Pipes had something queer to say, and so had the carpenter called Chips.
“Now then, doctor,” cried the captain. “It’s your turn. Tell us something good.”
The doctor cleared his throat.
“I’ll do my best, sir,” said the doctor with a modest smile.