“Get all three to their bunks,” the doctor ordered.
A swift examination showed that Van Arden was suffering from merely a heavy blow on the jaw. All he wanted was peace and silence, and a chance for his head to stop whirling. Florsheim was badly hurt, with a long scalp cut, and the doctor feared concussion.
Captain Fraine, on the first approach to consciousness, evinced such symptoms of acute delirium that Dr. Forsythe immediately gave him an opiate.
Mr. Hammond came back to the control room and took the wheel from the still shaky David. “I will take the first watch,” he said. “Dulcie has some tea for you and Red in the salon.”
Nothing loath, they walked back and sat down, as Dulcie, followed by the sputtering chef, brought in steaming tea and crackers.
Dulcie’s little hands trembled as she set the cups before them. “Drink it,” she said. “It will fix your throat, Red, and set you up, David. Oh, wasn’t it awful?” she quavered. “What did happen?”
“I don’t know what started it,” said Red. “When I got there, Fraine had done for Florsheim entirely, and Van Arden was out. When he saw me, he quit kicking Van Arden and grabbed me. David was a welcome sight. Fact is,” he suddenly sobered, “he would have done for me, Davie. I never saw anything like his strength. You’d have thought I was a baby. Why, he was choking me and trying to tap me with the wrench, all at the same time.”
“Have more tea,” Dulcie shuddered. “And you, too, David.”
“Thanks, no. I’m all bucked up,” said David, and left them to go forward.
“Take the wheel, David, while I see how Fraine is,” Mr. Hammond said, as David came again into the control room. He patted the boy reassuringly on the shoulder as he went back toward the cabins.