She was standing in the doorway and beckoning to him. Her cheeks were crimson, the breeze was tossing her hair about her forehead, and she made a picture that even the practical, unromantic doctor appreciated.
“By George, Nat!” he muttered, “you've got more courage than I have. If 'twas my job to give her up to somebody else I'd think twice, I'll bet.”
The captain went to meet her.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nat,” she whispered, “will you come in? He wants to see you.”
John Ellery was still seated in the chair by the window, but he no longer looked like an invalid. There was no worry or care in his countenance now, merely a wondrous joy and serene happiness.
He held out his hands and the captain shook them heartily.
“Mr. Ellery,” he said, “as they used to say at the circus, 'Here we are again.' And you and I have been doing all kinds of circus acrobatics since we shook last, hey? I'm glad you're pretty nigh out of the sick bay—and the doctor says you are.”
“Captain,” began Ellery. Hammond interrupted him.
“Hold on!” he said. “Belay right there. If you and I are to cruise in the same family—and that's what I hear is likely to happen—I cal'late we'll heave overboard the cap'ns and Misters. My name's 'Nathaniel'—'Nat' for short.”