“Yes: the men backed out from the job, an’ since somebody must do it, I allowed you’d rather it would be me.”
“Indeed I had,” Ned replied, and if he entertained any suspicions previously, they were dispelled now the one man on board whom he considered a friend was to accompany him as far as the shore.
The captain enveloped the boy in a rubber coat which partially hid his face, saying as he did so:
“You should be careful about taking cold. There’s a damp wind comes off the water, and it’s best to keep your face well covered until you are in the hospital.”
Ned, now firmly convinced that the master of the Evening Star was his very good friend, obeyed orders to the letter, and Mr. Stout led him on deck.
The brig was hove-to off a low-lying, sandy island about half a mile away, and a more desolate-looking place could not well be imagined.
Far down on the opposite shore was something dark which might be a clump of trees, otherwise there was not so much as a blade of grass in the way of vegetation.
The boat was alongside, and, standing well forward, as if afraid of having the leper pass them, were the crew, looking very much disturbed.
“You can see how frightened they are of you,” Mr. Stout said in a low tone. “It was all the captain an’ I could do to prevent them from setting you adrift in one of the boats.”
“How funny it is that they should have got scared when I look the same’s I ever did.”