Phus. Mis’, de baby was a gwine to wokem up, and I specks he’d tink ’twas you.
Capt. M. Phus, take off that rig, and go on deck, you lubber! (Exit Phus, R.) Oh, I don’t know. I feel just as I did once when I was a boy, before I had the typhoid fever,—tired all over. (Sits.) My head is as light as a feather, and my feet are heavy as lead. I don’t feel as if I could step a step.
Mary. Lie down a little while, and perhaps you’ll feel better. How much farther do we go up river?
Capt. M. About two hundred miles. We shall reach the last station in a few days. (Takes off his jacket and shoes wearily, as he talks.) Patsy is at the wheel, and you can bring me word if he wants anything.
Mary (aside). Oh, dear! I know he is going to be sick. (To him) Where is the chart of the river?
Capt. M. On deck, in the wheel-house.
Mary. And all the things you use?
Capt. M. Yes. Why?
Mary. Because I want to know, so that you can have a good long nap.
Capt. M. Our course is all marked out, and what to steer by; but I shall feel better, I hope, after I have had some sleep. You’d better go on deck, once in a while, see how things are going on, and let me know. (Exit L., holding by the doorway.)