“But you can’t swim, Joe.”
“Never mind. Don’t let me be a bother to you. You’ll want to turn in,” casting a wistful look around my pleasant room, “and so I’ll find my way on deck and you needn’t give me another thought.”
“Very good,” said I, nodding. “I think I’ll turn in this minute.”
He rose up, slowly.
“Just climb into that upper berth, Joe, and go to sleep. There’ll be work for you tomorrow, and you’ll need to get rested.”
He stared into my smiling face a moment with a startled look that soon became radiant. Then he broke down and cried like a baby.
“Here, no snivelling!” I growled, savagely. “Pile into that berth; but see you get your shoes off, first.”
He obeyed, still blubbering but evidently struggling to restrain his sobs. Indeed, his privations of the past two days, half starved and hunted like a dog, had completely unnerved the poor fellow. When he had tumbled into the berth I locked the door, put out the light, and rolled myself in my own blanket.
A few moments later I heard Joe stirring. He leaned over the edge of the bunk and murmured:
“God bless you, Sam Steele! I’ll never forget, sir, the way you——”