“Is the lady to go ashore, then?” said Cammock, looking towards Olivia.
“I hope not,” said Margaret. “But if she stays she must have a maid. We shall put her—let me see.”
“Where will you put her?” asked Perrin. “There’s no room. You surely won’t put her in the ’tween-decks?”
“No,” replied his friend. “We must make up a room in the sail-room. Captain Cammock must shift his sails into the ’tween-decks.”
“She’ll have the biggest room in the ship,” said Cammock. “She’ll be able to give a ball to the hands.”
“Charles,” said Olivia, “I don’t think I can possibly come with you. I’m giving you too much trouble.”
She was hurt, now, that it was Charles, not her husband, who had thought of her comfort, and shown that he considered her position.
“Nonsense,” said Margaret. “You’re being very nice. You just make all the difference. Now, you’re both tired out. Your cabin’s quite ready for you. Suppose we all go on deck to take the air for a while before we say good-night.”
As they filed on deck, Cammock drew Stukeley aside.
“See here,” he said. “You’re giving way to it. You’ll be as sick as a dog if you give way to it. What you want to do is to get some nice fat pork, or a bit of greasy bacon, now. Or lard. The steward ’d lend you a ball of lard. Or get one of the hands to puff tobacker at yer. Or take a suck at a little melted butter, or some of that salad oil as they call it. It’ll fetch you up all standing.”