“Certainly.”
Dave was tired out. Danny Grin was already sound asleep on a mattress on the floor. Darrin had been yawning heavily, but now the call of humanity appealed to him.
“I’ll go with you, Doctor,” Dave added, and followed the surgeon.
In a bunk down in the sick bay Pembroke tossed uneasily, his face a bright red.
“Here is Mr. Darrin, Pembroke,” announced the medical officer.
“You’ll think I had a jolly large amount of nerve to send for you,” murmured the stricken man, holding out a hand. Under the circumstances Darrin did not hesitate to take the hand.
“Sit down, won’t you?” begged Pembroke, and Dave occupied a stool alongside.
“I felt that I ought to see you,” Pembroke went on. “Sawbones tells me I have plenty of chance to pull through, but I’m not so sure about that. If my carcass is to be heaved over in canvas, with a solid shot for weight, I want to go as clean as I can. So I want to tell you a few things about myself, Mr. Darrin. You don’t mind, do you?”
“I shall be glad to hear whatever you have to say to me,” Dave replied.
“You look jolly well tired out,” observed the stricken man, “so I won’t detain you long. To-night you accused me of being a scoundrel, and you had the goods on me. There can be no doubt about my being crooked, and I may as well admit it.”