"No, thank you, I am not hungry. I am thirsty and chilly, though. Why can't I go home?"
"Because, unless I stop to put ye aboard some ship, ye can't. I can't stop now till daylight, anyway; and then we shall be about in the Bay. By that time I expect ye'll want to stay where ye are. Lie quiet now, I'll send the steward to ye with a lemon drink. Maybe in the morning ye'll feel better. Anyhow, ye must remain here—for the present, and keep yer claws in, like Tim Connor's cat."
"Are you the captain?" I asked, with some deference.
"So they tell me," was the quaint reply, as he left the cabin.
The captain of the Wind and Weather! Perhaps I had been too "cheeky." What would he do to me, I wondered. He seemed a nice man. Then I began to wonder what had become of Tim. He had not been given a cabin. Why had the captain taken such care of me? he had never heard of me, I was sure.
While thus groping in my mind for assistance and ideas, the steward appeared with a warm drink, which smelt of lemon juice, and some spirit—I think whisky. I had never tasted spirits, and declined the draught then.
"If you don't drink it the doc will come and fix you," said the steward. "Better this than him. He's a 'nailer' at nastiness. Take my advice, drink this, and you'll sleep like a top."
"On one leg, do you mean?" I asked, taking the glass and smiling.
"Anyhow, after that. There, you've some sense in you, I see. You came up pretty limp from the boat. Now lie down, and sleep till mornin', I'll come and see after you."
"I say, steward, wait a second. What's the captain's name?"