Wally, scrambling up, obeyed.
“Twenty lines of Latin is indicated, too, Sims,” said Doctor Trigg, chuckling, “but don’t be too hard on the poor boy. His reaction is entirely a matter of temperament.”
Doctor Sims rose. “Gr-r-r-r-r!” he retorted, and dusted his knees.
In the control room, David could scarcely realize that the danger was really past. He felt weak and shaken.
“Give me the wheel,” said Van Arden’s voice, at his side.
“Can you make it?” David asked.
“Surest thing you know!” Van Arden smiled. “I really am all right again, but you must be all in, Ellison. Go along. I’ll carry on.”
Mr. Hammond took David’s arm. “Black coffee is what you need,” he said, and led him into the salon.
David rubbed his hands. The fingers were stiffly crooked. He could hardly flex them, they had gripped the wheel so long. Dulcie, calm and collected, appeared from the galley, and sat down opposite him. She took the cup of coffee from the pallid chef, and served it.
“An egg, and some marmalade and toast, I think, Cookie,” she said, smiling up into the plump, worried face. “Now, hero, don’t talk. Just relax, and get something to eat. Then you are to go to sleep for a week or so. Dad says so.”