"Do you want me to tell you, sir?"
"Yes, yes, yes!"
"Then I might as well do it, sir, as tell you," Tim drawled out.
"Mr. Reade, you're worn to pieces. You get into your bunk and
I'll take charge for an hour."
"I want to see you do the things you know how to do."
"Not a thing will I do, Mr. Reade, unless you get into your bunk for an hour," declared Walsh, sturdily.
"Will you call me in an hour, if I lie down?"
"I will."
"You'll call me in an hour?"
"On my honor, Mr. Reade."
Tim Walsh thereupon bundled the young engineer into another bunk, covered him up, and then watched until Tom Reade, utterly exhausted, fell into a deep sleep that was more like a trance.