Harry and Walter carried the sailor to the mattress on the port side, lying him upon it tenderly; and while they were thus occupied, Jim climbed on deck once more, running directly to the pantry.
A case of canned soup was among the stores, and without waiting to select any particular kind he seized one of the tins and carried it to the galley.
To build so much of a fire as would be sufficient to heat the soup was but the work of a few moments, and then he carried a bowl full of the nourishing food aft, saying, as he handed it to the starving man:
"I don't reckon it'll do you any harm to eat this. I'll get a spoon, an' one of us fellers will feed you."
There was no necessity for any such preparation. The sailor still had strength enough to raise the bowl to his lips, and in the shortest possible space of time it had been drained of its contents.
"I s'pose you could pump two or three gallons into him before he'd know there was anything inside," Jim said in a low tone to Harry as the sufferer laid back on the pillows with closed eyes. "What'll we do? Give him some more?"
"Hold on a few minutes and see if he asks for it. I think he's going to sleep."
Jim went forward again, where he could be alone while thinking over this addition to their number, and instead of finding relief in the coming of the stranger it seemed to him as if the matter had grown more complicated.
"It was tough enough for us before," he said as he went into the galley; "but what we're goin' to do with a sick man on our hands beats me."
He was not in so much despair as to forget that as yet they had not breakfasted, however, and he at once set about preparing a reasonably elaborate meal.