“I shall see that you show up to-morrow morning,” the mate said as he turned to go. “I don’t reckon the captain will let you loaf any longer, even though a sick waiter isn’t the most pleasant person one can have around a table. The skipper of this craft don’t believe in keeping cats that can’t catch mice.”
“Do you s’pose he’ll let me stay here as long as that?” Ned asked piteously.
“I reckon so, for I shall make it out you’re worse off than really is the case; so fix yourself as comfortable as possible, an’ I’ll see to it that the cook brings you a bowl of soup before noon.”
“I couldn’t eat a mouthful.”
“Nonsense. You’ll be as ravenous as a bear by night, an’ I’ll answer for it you can get away with quite a mess by the time it is ready.”
Ned felt certain he should never again want anything in the way of food; but when, two hours later, the captain of the galley brought a bowlful of liquid, steaming hot, which gave forth a most appetizing odor, he succeeded in swallowing more than half of it, feeling very much better immediately afterward.
By nightfall he had so far recovered that the nausea did not trouble him, save when he attempted to rise to his feet, and he had no difficulty in eating a large piece of meat and two ship’s biscuit, which the good-natured mate gave him.
“I reckon you’re all right now, an’ shall turn you out bright an’ early in the morning,” Mr. Stout said as Ned literally devoured the provisions.
“Did the captain say anything because I was sick so long?”
“Yes, he got into a reg’lar mad fit; but I made it out that you wasn’t able to come into the cabin in any decent shape, an’ he didn’t say any more. The old man has been like an angel all day, an’ I can’t understand the meanin’ of it. Anybody would say he was tryin’ to play me for some kind of a favor; but of course that can’t be, now we’ve put to sea.”