"I'm glad you're feeling better," Andrew smiled. "I'll go up and look after the boat."
He left the scuttle open and they heard blocks rattle as he hauled the main sheet, and the soft splashing at the bows as the yacht gathered speed.
"I'm not sure it was the blow on your head that knocked you out, Dick," Whitney said. "You reeled as if you were getting faint before you fell."
"Well, suppose I did? I may have been running harder than was good for me; but can't you understand that one shrinks from making a fuss about one's weaknesses?"
"Of course. This means you want to keep the real explanation from your cousin?"
"I'd very much rather nobody knew. Falling on your head is a good enough reason for feeling faint, and, as a matter of fact, I hit it hard enough."
"Very well," agreed Whitney. "I suppose I must say nothing, since you have taken me into your confidence."
"You might let my cot down and pull out the blankets. I'm not quite right yet, to tell the truth. I think I'll go to sleep."
Whitney arranged the cot for him, and then, going up on deck, sat in the cockpit while the Rowan stretched across the bay before a fresh easterly breeze.